Poem of the Week

Boston Boys at Circus Time

It’s the Boston Boys at circus time
On the ices of New England:
Leo and Hal, and Stu and Sid,
Boys full grown,
Big Bill Converse and Henry Stone;
metal tailors,
Mean sailors,
Bred racers to the bone.

When it’s circus time
In the icy clime
And hard waters of New England,
Comes the fleet!
Circus trailers,
Icy grailers
The brothers of neat,
Sleek worshippers of speed,
And, in the cold, pure heat of intention
Runners resound and scrape
Like sharp blades across a pan.

Dazzle sails!

Air invention will do
When chimney smokes pillar starignt up.

Then Burly Herb Dreyer makes the Brass
Monkey dance,
And Henry sets out, newly strung, Don Fellow’s
steed to prance
And Leo, of the aviator goggles,
(Much class)
And snowy knickers
With King Cold’s wintry tongue,
While Arlyan Farm, orange dart
Leaves no part
Of ice ungraced
As slick-smooth-black-hard in cut and laced
In triple art.

Sing ice!
When the Boston Boys
At circus time

L. Hardman

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