Close by the summer spire of St.Barnabus

Flossie Sheridan waits for a trolleybus

statuesque with her mane of auburn hair

knowing all there is to know

from flowing crown to tippy toe

in her school blue and grey looking neat.

 

Here comes the red and gliding bus

with a hiss and a spark past Clissold Park,

the conductor bright buttoned

swings out to welcome her aboard.

She steps so nimbly on the platform

brushing him with her auburn hair.

 

He follows at once on the turn of the stair,

rolling her a ticket with a smile.

In the well of his descent

he checks the little bulging mirror

that shows the aquarium of the bus

and how coquettish is his hat.

 

She watches him from the rearmost seat,

fingers the buckle on her satchel

while the world flashes by in disarray,

an opulent silence tumbling down

like her mane of auburn hair.