I have not spent a gladder day in years
Than Friday, July 24, '08.
At 10 a.m. (or thereabouts) my ears
Were soothed with silence, whereat I elate.
Dashed to the peg whereon my hat was hung,
And gained with eager haste the outer air.
The cars had stopped! My withers were unwrung.
I sought a tramguard out, and spoke him fair.
"Greetings, old friend!" I cried with shining eyes;
"You do me signal service even while
The tramway service you disorganise --
The which explains my gay and joyous smile.
"Weak is my liver, weaker still my mind;
While street cars run I WON'T take exercise.
The street cars cry a halt. What do we find?
I have to walk. My liver trouble flies.
"I -- in my trade of poet -- always found
That inspiration vanished with a yell
What time she heard the loud, insistent sound
Of your (forgive me) blanky warning bell.
"My Pegasus, a sorry steed at best,
Went lame in front, got string-halt and behaved
Outrageously, making himself a pest
When he saw trams -- trams rendered him depraved.
[Envoy.]
"Strike on, old friend, strike on! Cherish no fears
That we will disapprove your deeds who rhyme
For bread. Stand fast! The strike may last for years;
Hewers of verse are with you all the time!"
First published in The Bulletin, 30 July 1908
