A THING that often 'pears to me At night, and which I'd like to see Jest as, By George! it used to be, Is our old lumber wagon. The wheels was made by wheelwright Rice, Whose wheelwright work was extry nice; He also spliced the crossbar twice Of that same lumber wagon. We made the body part ourselves, From boards that once was buttery shelves, White pine—the pride of woodland elves— A classy lumber wagon. 'Twas ironed up by blacksmith Drew, Whose eye and iron both was true, And I was 'lowed to paint it blue— Our old blue lumber wagon. It had no strange "fifth wheel" to vex Our eyes, and make us stretch our necks, The kingbolt went right through the ex Of our old lumber wagon. It had no tailboard, rigged to swing, No seat on which to smoke and sing, No brake, no shoe, no anything— 'Twas jest a lumber wagon. But when 'twas loaded up with muck, My! how them grease-fed wheels would chuck; It "talked" like Jim Kiniry's truck— Our one-horse lumber wagon. Oh! if my feelings might prevail 'Twould stand inside my office rail, And never be for rent or sale— Our old blue lumber wagon. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RAIN AFTER A VAUDEVILLE SHOW by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET AMERICA by ARTHUR CLEVELAND COXE ON STURMINSTER FOOT-BRIDGE by THOMAS HARDY THE SOWER AND HIS SEED by WILLIAM EDWARD HARTPOLE LECKY MODERN LOVE: 30 by GEORGE MEREDITH SONNET: TO J.M.K. by ALFRED TENNYSON |