Classic Poem

Vehicles are a curse,
Or a blessing in disguise,
In the streets of northern cities
Bent on moving motorwise,
Yea, whose trail is growing darker
Than a cloud in thunder skies.

Raucous is the roaring
Rasping passion to pursue
Something like an irreligious
Easter in Park Avenue,
Redeemed only by the lilies
That Bermuda makes come true.

Isled in seas of azure,
To and from which steam and sail
Craft of romance and adventure,
Still are horses and time-honoured
Rigs responding to a hail,
In a white duenna village
Blushing in a silver veil.