WHAT'S AT THE BOTTOM OF YOUR BIRDCAGE?

ODE TO A NEWSPAPER

I see you on the stands,

Your headlines make demands -

To buy you and to read you.

Your ink gets on my hands,

Yet I'm your faithful fan -

This Ode's to you, Newspaper.

You're in such troubled climes,

A-heading for lean times -

The world no longer needs you.

Your price is paid in dimes,

Your stories do not rhyme -

Yo-de-lay-de-hoo, Newspaper.

Now we read our 'pods,

See you as useless bods,

We've turned our backs on you.

The techno-savvy gods,

Have turfed you 'neath the sod -

Koo-Koo-Ka-Choo, Newspaper.

May you stagger on for years,

And even as fate nears,

I'll say my prayers for you.

But don't expect the tears,

Of modern man - oh dear!

This Ode's for you, Newspaper.