Its journeys and its struggles.
I praise the great levi'than,
From Magazine to Ruggles.
We mortals hail its glory,
Elusiveness and greatness,
We marvel at its stature,
Dwarfed only by its lateness.
Mornings you rise with the sun,
Boldly trudging through traffic.
You squeeze your way down Cambridge
Streets, in turns nearly sapphic.
Oft I've heard thy dulcet voice,
As I've lain in bed slumb'ring.
'Wait for me!' I've cried in vain,
As you've passed by me rumbling.
But then, after many long
Waits in the street corner slush,
I treasure the thrills when you've
Screeched, stopped, and knelt with a hush.
Bringing me on board the most
Sacred of moving steeples,
Greeting me with the pungent
Stench of many squashed peoples.
A rock, a jerk, a tumble
And lo! Our destination.
Ye good drivers always drive
With the grace of a boatswain.
And yet you do me harm, I must confess.
Must you only bring me to the office?
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