The bus winds down through the busy street, Without a thought or care; It stops at a signal, a fare to greet, With a jerk that would raise your hair. It plows through the traffic, with many a stop For autos and men to pass; With ever anon a man to drop In the busy throng, alas. It joggles along the old washboard roads, In the poorer sections of town; Or stops at a college to get a load Of students, without a gown. Forever it rumbles, and starts, and shakes, As if it would take death toll; So when the old motorman puts on the brakes, You would like to get out and stroll. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DAWN BEHIND NIGHT by ISAAC ROSENBERG THE SONG FOR COLIN by SARA TEASDALE CHARLES AUGUSTUS FORTESCUE by HILAIRE BELLOC OBERON'S FEAST by ROBERT HERRICK SONNET TO MRS. REYNOLD'S CAT by JOHN KEATS VERLAINE by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON |