The Bus - Poem by Terry Brewer
The buses come, the buses go
But aren’t those crawling buses slow
They creep and crawl and worm their way
And what extortionate rates we pay
For this uncomfortable conveyance.
Long country lanes, where no one dwells
The company time sheet still impells
The bus to call and see if, by chance,
The villagers have woken from their trance
And wish to see what lies beyond that distant rise.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
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