I could not live a day and know that thee I’d mount no more,
I’ll tinker thee, my bicycle, for solder’s sometimes strong;
I’ll tinker thee, my bicycle, perchance thou’lt serve me long.
Who said that I had given thee up? who said I wished thee sold?
’Tis false, ’tis false, my iron steed; I wouldn’t have their gold.
Thus, thus I’ll heap upon my back thy battered, bulged remains;
Away! who from me takes thee now gets little for his pains!
S. T. A. N.
From One and All. November 8, 1879.
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