I never have clung to a motor car, <br />Or crouched on a motor bike. <br />Worry and scurry, clank and jar <br />I cordially dislike. <br /> <br />I do not care for grimy hair, <br />For engines that explode, <br />But of one and all I've the put and call, <br />For I live on the Ripley Road. <br /> <br />I drank the country breeze at first, <br />Unsoiled by fetid fumes, <br />But now I am cursed with a constant thirst <br />That parches and consumes. <br /> <br />I am choked and hit with smoke and grit <br />When I venture from my abode ; <br />My pets are maimed and my eyes inflamed, <br />For I live on the Ripley Road. <br /> <br />I pass my days in a yellow fog, <br />My nights in a dreadful dream, <br />Haunted by handlebar, clutch and cog, <br />And eyes that goggle and gleam. <br /> <br />I am not robust, but I dine on dust <br />Gratuitously bestowed, <br />And for twopence I'll sell my house in the dell <br />By the side of the Ripley Road.<br /><br />Jessie Pope<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/motor-martyrdom/
