On being told yesterday that a motor car had been travelling at about 25 miles an hour, Mr. Eaniman, P.M. (a former coroner) remarked that this was only the "Morgue limit." ((Note: I'm not sure of the exact spelling of the name here as the only copy of this page I have seen is in poor condition.))
Not so. The careful driver who Restrains his car, like I and you, Is rarely heading for that place Where water drips upon the face And sad friends suffer by one's side That one may be identified. Who drive a cautious twenty-five May reasonably stay alive And shun that place where, aptly grieved, "From information I received." Grave cops give evidence to show How, why and where the scorchers go. But he who hits the sixty mark, Taking wild chances in the dark Beneath the Speed Fiend's urgent goad, He's on the road! He's on the road! Him for the Morgue, forlorn and drab. Him for the cold, hard marble slab.
|Copyright © Perry Middlemiss 2002|