Riding Down From Bangor

A poem by Louis Shreve Osborne

Riding down from Bangor, on an eastbound train
After weeks of hunting, in the woods of Maine
Quite extensive whiskers, beard, mustache as well
Sat a student fellow, tall and slim and swell

Empty seat behind him, no one at his side
Into quiet village, eastern train did glide
Enter aged couple, take the hindmost seat
Enter village maiden, beautiful, petite

Blushingly she faltered, “Is this seat engaged?”
Sees the aged couple, properly enraged
Student’s quite ecstatic, sees her ticket through
Thinks of the long tunnel, thinks of what he will do

Pleasantly they chatted, how the cinders fly
Til the student fellow, gets one in his eye
Maiden sympathetic, turns herself about
“May I if you please sir, try to get it out?”

Then the student fellow, feels a gentle touch
Hears a gentle murmur, “Does it hurt you much?”
Whiz! Slap! Bang! Into the the tunnel quite
Into glorious darkness, black as Egypt’s night

Out into the daylight glides that eastern train
Student’s hair is ruffled, just the merest grain
Maiden seen all blushes when then and there appeared
A tiny little earring, in that horrid student’s beard.

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