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A poem by Rudyard Kipling |
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Municipal |
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Title: Municipal Author: Rudyard Kipling [More Titles by Kipling] "Why is my District death-rate low?" "I learnt a lesson once, It ran It was an August evening and, in snowy garments clad, I couldn't see the driver, and across my mind it rushed I didn't care to meet him, and I couldn't well get down, The buggy was a new one and, praise Dykes, it stood the strain, He seemed to want the owner, so I fled, distraught with fear, Heard it trumpet on my shoulder--tried to crawl a little higher-- It missed me by a fraction, but my hair was turning grey Then I sought the City Elders, and my words were very plain. You may hold with surface-drainage, and the sun-for-garbage cure, I believe in well-flushed culverts. . . . This is why the death-rate's small; -THE END- GO TO TOP OF SCREEN |