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.