The Paper Boy Poem by john (called jack) wren

Woe to the hands of the paper boy
Winter is here and likes to annoy
Young fingers that stay out in the air
Finding no time to stay in their lair.
A bag, full of fresh news
Is carried for those to peruse
The Telegraph, Times or Daily Express
In pyjamas or silky night dress.
Delivered with haste to those who are able
To prop it up on the breakfast table,
Digesting news with egg on toast
Before Father time moves the goalpost.
Down the street, letterboxes rattle
Adding music to the morning prattle,
And hands and feet work overtime
As eight o clock starts its chime.
School is but one hour away,
He must hurry, and not delay,
To do so would spell disaster
From an angry School Headmaster.