Classic Poem

" FLASH " THE FIREMAN'S STORY

" Flash " was a white-foot sorrel, an' run on Number Three:
Not much stable manners — an average horse to see;
Notional in his methods — strong in loves an' hates;
Not very much respected, or popular 'mongst his mates.

Dull an' moody an' sleepy, an' " off " on quiet days;
Full o' turbulent, sour looks, an' small sarcastic ways;
Scowled an' bit at his partner, an' banged the stable floor —
With other means intended to designate life a bore.

But when, be't day or night time, he heard the alarm-bell ring,
He'd rush for his place in the harness with a regular tiger spring;
An' watch, with nervous shivers, the clasp of buckle an' band,
Until 'twas plainly evident he'd like to lend a hand,

An' when the word was given, away he would rush an' tear,
As if a thousand witches was rumplin' up his hair,
An' craze the other horses with his magnetic charm,
Till every hoof-beat sounded a regular fire-alarm!

Never a horse a jockey would notice an' admire
Like Flash in front of his engine a-runnin' to a fire;
Never a horse so lazy, so dawdlin', an' so slack,
As Flash upon his return trip, a drawin' the engine back.

Now, when the different horses gets tender-footed an' old,
They're no use in our business; so Flash was finally sold
To quite a respectable milkman; who found it not so fine
A-bossin' one o' God's creatures outside its natural line.

Seems as if I could see Flash a-mopin' along here now,
Feelin' that he was simply assistant to a cow;
But sometimes he'd imagine he heard the alarm-bell's din,
An' jump an' rear for a season before they could hold him in;

An' once, in spite o' his master, he strolled in 'mongst us chaps,
To talk with the other horses, of former fires, perhaps;
Whereat the milkman kicked him; whereat, us boys to please,
He begged that horse's pardon upon his bended knees.

But one day, for a big fire as we was makin' a dash,
Both o' the horses we had on somewhat resemblin' Flash,
Yellin' an' ringin' an' rushin', with excellent voice an' heart,
We passed the poor old fellow, a-tuggin' away at his cart.

If ever I see an old hoss grow upward into a new —
If ever I see a milkman whose traps behind him flew,
'Twas that old hoss, a-rearin' an' racin' down the track,
An' that respectable milkman a-tryin' to hold him back.

Away he rushed like a cyclone for the head o' " Number Three, "
Gained the lead, an' kept it, an' steered his journey free;
Dodgin' wagons an' horses, an' still on the keenest " silk, "
An' furnishin' all that neighborhood with good, respectable milk.

Crowd a-yellin' an' runnin', an' vainly hollerin' " Whoa! "
Milkman bracin' an' sawin', with never a bit o' show;
Firemen laughin' an' chucklin', an' shoutin' " Good! go in! "
Hoss a-gettin' down to it, an' sweepin' along like sin.

Finally came where the fire was — halted with a " thud " ;
Sent the respectable milkman heels over head in mud;
Watched till he see the engines properly workin' there,
After which he relinquished all interest in the affair.

Moped an' wilted an' dawdled, " faded away " once more,
Took up his old occupation — considerin' life a bore;
Laid down in his harness, an' — sorry I am to say —
The milkman he had drawn there took his dead body away.

That's the whole o' my story: I've seen, more'n once or twice,
That poor dead animals' actions is full o' human advice;
An' if you ask what Flash taught, I'll simply answer, then,
That poor old horse was a symbol of some intelligent men.

An' if, as some consider, there's animals in the sky,
I think the poor old fellow is gettin' another try;
But if he should sniff the big fire that plagues the abode o' sin.
It 'll take the strongest angel to hold the old fellow in.