8/31/13

Ballade of Kindness to Motorists

O MOTORISTS, motorists, run away and play,
I pardon you. Such exercise resigned,
When would a statesman see the woods in May?
How could a banker woo the western wind?
When you have knocked a dog down I have pined,
When you have kicked the dust up I have sneezed,
These things cone from your absence—well, of Mind—
But when you get a puncture I am pleased.


I love to see you sweating there all day
About some beastly hole you cannot find;
While your poor tenants pass you in a dray,
Or your sad clerks bike by you at a grind,
I am not really cruel or unkind;
I would not wish you mortally diseased,
Or deaf or dumb or dead or mad or blind,
But when you get a puncture I am pleased.


What slave that dare not smile when chairs give way?
When smart boots slip, having been lately shined?
When curates cannon with the coffee tray?
When trolleys take policemen from behind?
When kings come forth in public, having dined,
And palace steps are a trifle greased?—
The joke may not be morbidly refined,
But when you get a puncture I am pleased.


Envoi

Prince of the Car of Progress Undefined,
On to your Perfections unappeased!
Leave your dead past with its dead children lined;
But when you get a puncture I am pleased.



~G.K. Chesterton: The Coloured Lands.

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