In morning light, it comes to grace,
A timeworn friend, a paper trace,
Of whispered tales and world affairs,
A tapestry of words that dares.
I love the rustle of the page,
Each folding creak, a quiet sage,
It speaks of life in ink and rhyme,
A chronicler of place and time.
The headlines shout, the stories weave,
Of triumphs bold and hearts that grieve,
From local joys to global fears,
A mirror held to all our years.
The art of pen, the craft of type,
In every column, there’s a type,
Of passion, truth, and sometimes jest,
In printed lines, my mind finds rest.
I savor scents of newsprint fresh,
The snippets of the human flesh,
A bond that stretches far and wide,
Uniting us, though worlds divide.
The puzzles wait, the comics call,
A morning ritual, I enthrall,
I sip my brew, the world unfolds,
In every story, wisdom molds.
So here’s to you, dear newspaper friend,
Through thick and thin, on you depend,
For in your lines, I find my place,
A love affair, a warm embrace.
Therapy Bits 
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