Slowly wended his way through the rattle and dust
Of the city. He mused on the cholera scare,
On his relative chance as a wheat or a tare
In the prophesied raid. Then he mumbled a prayer,
And each mud hole he eyed seemed a villainous snare,
While his conscience said, solemnly, “Simpson, beware!”
On the strength of a limited balance in cash
He had planned for himself and his family a dash
To the mountains, the seaside, it mattered not where;
To delay any longer was more than he dare;