The Ghost Paper-Boy - Poem by Dan Brown
A bang and
A street’s letterboxes smeared with
A lad delivered papers round these
But then he went, and
Never came back.
They say that when the cold sets in,
and the sky is black,
He returns. To trudge round the streets
with his paper-sack.
A cold, crisp air; frost on the floor.
The paper lad don’t come ‘ere no more.
Invisible feet trace invisible steps,
As he posts papers, just as before.
The whistling wind and the eerie echoes
Imitate his hollowed moans.
Together they flood the streets, trying to find a
He longs to be remembered; for
people to come to the door
But, sadly, that doesn’t happen any more.
For he’s been dead a while.
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