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Riding Down From Bangor

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

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

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

Pleasantly they chatted; how the cinders fly!
Till the student fellow got 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,
Hear a gentle murmur, "Does it hurt you much?"
Whiz! Slap! Bang! into 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 seems all blushes, when then and there appeared
A tiny little earring in that horrid student's beard.

Louis Shreve Osborne