On my morning paper route,
Cobwebs spanned the path
I rode on my bicycle,
Through the woods from
One house to another,
Sparkling with the dew,
It seemed a shame to
Tear through them daily,
Head down and arm up,
Literally in headlong flight.
Often it would still be dark when I finished delivering my papers, and, on some warm mornings, I'd go down to the bay, take off my clothes, and skinny dip a little.
Donovan Baldwin