Thank you so much for coming
I wish I saw you more
Sorry I can't offer lunch
I've got to shove you out the door
I'm afraid I'm just too busy
I have fallen way behind
My garage is full of ten years
Of the Sunday New York Times
Some get their news from the radio
Some people read headlines
I read every single word
In the Sunday New York Times
Each week it comes, about 10 pounds
Of newsprint that combines
News and style and reviews
And the Op Ed page opines
Ten pounds of small grey print
Stories of all kinds
I do the best I can but I'm
Up to May 1999.
I feel an obligation
To my teacher Mr. Heinz
To keep up with current events
So I read it, line by line
Bill Clinton still is president
And the Dow Jones Index climbs
--Cause I read every single word
In the Sunday New York Times.
The garage is full of paper
Each month tied up with twine
Stacks of paper ten feet high
Made of pulp from spruce and pine
Trees died to make this
Men toiled to design
This journalistic moment
For the inquiring mind.
I quit my job at P & G
I gave up beer and wine
Don't go out to dinner
Invitations I decline
I sit and read the paper
Hard copy, not online
And now my ophthalmologist
Tells me I'm going blind.
I'm pretty good at language
I'm not a Philistine
But to do the crossword puzzle
Is a seven hour grind
The columnists: Frank. Maureen. Paul.
Are like old friends of mine
Kakutani, Friedman, Herbert
Ludwig Wittenstein
They say its days are numbered
As readership declines
I can't imagine living
Without the New York Times
When it's gone then I'll be lost
The sun no longer shines
Thank goodness I have a backlog
So I'll just take my time.
Should newspapers fade away
In Auld Lang Syne
We'll drink a cup of kindness to
The Sunday New York Times.