In the early mornings Calvin made his newspaper run.
He believed in getting the job done.
Calvin could make those newspapers fly with style.
He could throw them a mile.
He was a newsboy star.
But I wondered why the newspaper always ended up under the car.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Most of the newspaper boys throw the rubber-band fastened papers like a guided missile which lands at nearly the same spot every day. Wonderful write which I enjoyed most. Thanks a lot.