SOME soothing balm the soul requires, when one must fuss with rubber tires. I am a highly moral man; I guard my tongue the best I can; and if, perchance, I cuss a streak, remorse lambasts me for a week. A model I would gladly be, to growing youth and infancy, and ere I got a motor car, my fame for virtue traveled far. But often now I may be seen, all bathed in sweat and gasoline, and spotted o'er with rancid grease, dispensing words that break the peace. I jack my car up with my lyre, and try to patch a busted tire, and while I labor in the ditch, I'm laughed at by the idle rich, who whiz along in pomp and state, and jeer the more unlucky skate. And as I toil with wrench and crank, I keep on saying, "Blinky blank," and children toddling on their way give ear to smoky things I say, and as they leave, on learning bent, they whisper, "What a sinful gent!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SEASHORE (1) by RALPH WALDO EMERSON CAELICA: 100 by FULKE GREVILLE THE SEA-LIMITS by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI FIELD AMBULANCE IN RETREAT; VIA DOLOROSA, VIA SACRA by MAY SINCLAIR INDIAN SUMMER (2) by JOHN BANISTER TABB THE SAILOR BOY by ALFRED TENNYSON THE BIRDS: THE HOOPOE'S CALL TO HIS WIFE PROCNE, THE NIGHTINGALE by ARISTOPHANES |