Classic Poem

Let moderns preach, “We need more street”
With themes and schemes—ah, scorner,
'Tis ours to sing of a friendly thing,
Our street car! ours to honor.
Through all the years of smiles and tears,
To get our bread and butter,
A friend in need, a friend indeed,
The reason why we utter.

Most all the night, clear and bright,
Its headlights welcome cheery,
Throw out a ray, to any stray
Belated passenger—bleary.
Do not deride this trustful guide,
To any rural natives.
It lendeth cheer to those of fear,
Poor, unprotected ladies.

Although the rain on track and pane,
In rivulets be pouring;
The teacher late, yells, “Hi, there! Wait!”
Her signal not ignoring.
The wind doth blow, the chilly snow,
On rail and street together;
What of the storm? The car is warm,
Even in zero weather.

Let others prate of planes that take
O'er land and sea and sky;
Of nation's fusses, jitney busses,
Steamline trains that fly.
Ours is to sing of a humbler thing,
Ne'er shall we cease to mourn her,
“A fishin' pole o'er a terrapin's back,”
(As Uncle Josh described her)
Our street car! ours to honor.