The Neverwalkie

Twas unions and the O.C.T
Did gyre and gimble in disagreement.
No riders rode in certainty
As gas rose 50 per cent.

Beware the transpo bus, my son
The doors that bite, the feet that catch.
Beware the pun-pun bird, and shun
The lecherous bandersnatch.

And so with monthly pass in hand
Long time the slothsome foe he sought
Then rested he by a num-num tree
And stood a while in thought.

As wistfully he thought of night
The transpo bus with eyes aflame
Came clanking through the urban blight
All smoking as it came.

A wave, a hail, more desperate waves
The transpo bus went shuddering past
He read the sign in weary dread
'Gone for repair at last'.

And didst thou miss the transpo bus, my son?
O come to my arms, my sor'wing tyke!
But Dad, delay won't touch my day,
I'll speed off on my bike!

Twas unions and the O.C.T
Did gyre and gimble in disagreement
No riders rode in certainty
As gas rose 50 per cent.

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Copyright © 2003 Robert Echlin   Personal Notes