Motor Martyrdom Poem by Jessie Pope

I never have clung to a motor car,
Or crouched on a motor bike.
Worry and scurry, clank and jar
I cordially dislike.

I do not care for grimy hair,
For engines that explode,
But of one and all I've the put and call,
For I live on the Ripley Road.

I drank the country breeze at first,
Unsoiled by fetid fumes,
But now I am cursed with a constant thirst
That parches and consumes.

I am choked and hit with smoke and grit
When I venture from my abode ;
My pets are maimed and my eyes inflamed,
For I live on the Ripley Road.

I pass my days in a yellow fog,
My nights in a dreadful dream,
Haunted by handlebar, clutch and cog,
And eyes that goggle and gleam.

I am not robust, but I dine on dust
Gratuitously bestowed,
And for twopence I'll sell my house in the dell
By the side of the Ripley Road.