Go slow, you raving ****, go slow,
And do not cut your corners so;
For there's a citizen ahead
Who will not help the nation, dead.
It is a nuisance, I allow,
That he should think of crossing now;
But he is late, as well as you,
And thinks he is important, too.
He is not, I would have you note,
An antelope or mountain goat;
He has not, as I think you may,
Some sixty horses tucked away;
He cannot spring into the sky
To let your motor-car go by.
And do not hastily complain
That he is silly or insane.
He may be old, or have the gout;
Perhaps his torch has given out;
He may have lost a limb or two
From fighting over there—for you;
He may be deaf; it may be he
Who brought your petrol oversea.
At all events, for all you know,
A man is there-and so, go slow.
It's not his fault that you are late;
And anyhow the girl can wait.
More citizens are killed at home
Than soldiers on the road to Rome.
January 9, 1944