It is a bus: ye olde busse,
– for a penny a ride –
with conductor hat and all
at the entrance standing tall.
As the bus stops by the bus stop,
climbing on through open doors
I can hear the metal tinkling
and the buzzer saying “ring”.
Also the bus – this time more modern –
takes me along past all the world:
Sitting waiting, screech of brakes,
on again, past shops and lakes.
Stop the bus! I rise to leave;
press the bell and say “Thankyou.”
The doors slide open with a hiss
and out I step onto the grass.
A bus starts up and carries on.
No longer do I see;
as I step off alone
the bus carries on.