MEMORY OF THE NINETIES (the 1890s that is)
By Edgar Guest
Men used to drink in the nineties gay
When I was a youngster small,
But always the old horse knew the way
Back home to the barn and stall,
Then the neighborhood sot could drop the rein
On the dashboard at his feet
And Dobbin would canter him home again
While he snoozed on the buggy seat.
When the wine was red and the beer wore foam
‘Twas a common sight to see
The gray mare taking her master home
From a night of revelry.
She would jog along with a clickety-clack
With her sodden, senseless load
And even stop at the railroad track
For the old horse knew the road.
But times have changed and the foolish man
No more has a faithful friend.
Life has speeded up to a swifter plan,
Death lurks at each curve and bend
And the fool who climbs in a motor car
With a booze-befuddled brain
Has but to doze where the dangers are
And he doesn’t get home again.
So I pen this verse to the nineties gay,
Although drunkenness I condemn,
At least for the sots of old, I’ll say
They had horses to care for them.
They never killed children on the street,
When their brains began to roam
They could safely snooze on the buggy seat
And Dobbin would take them home.
A guest's response to the first poem
Subj: 1990's vs 1890's Date: 2/23/99 1:00:07 PM Eastern Standard Time From: Kuzzinken To: County3
Now Dobbin, he'd not here this day,
Nor are the drunks of old.
We've got a new breed on hand
And behind the wheel they're bold.
A hundred years has passed my lad,
No more rides home with Dobbin.
And there's an outfit called Madd
that's out to get the wobblin'.
So if you tip one too many,
and you don't have a horse.
Don't drive an automobile,
and you'll have no remorse.
Unknown author 1999