Old Poetry Poetry • Poets • Essays • Forums •

Service

The Bus horse does not work all day,
    For if he did he'd waste away.
    He does his work and then is able
    To take a long rest in the stable.

    When summer suns beat down upon it
    His head is sheltered by a bonnet;
    And though it makes him look a duffer,
    He hasn't half the heat to suffer.

Leave a guest comment (subject to review)

    : Comment:

    Name: (required)
    Email: (required, hidden from spam)