Date:         Thu, 8 Feb 2001 22:22:52 -0600
Reply-To:     Joel Walker <jwalker17@EARTHLINK.NET>
Sender:       Vanagon Mailing List <vanagon@gerry.vanagon.com>
From:         Joel Walker <jwalker17@EARTHLINK.NET>
Organization: not likely
Subject:      MORE Frydaye Follies for Fickle Ffolkes or Friendly Fussbudgets!
              :)
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what the heck ... at least it's 'on topic'! ;)

fer those of you suffering the throes of winter still ..


  Stopping by a Bus on a Snowy Evening
    by Robert Frostbitten

  Whose bus this is I think I know.
  His home is cross the river though;
  He will not mind me stopping here
  To watch his bus be topped with snow.

  My little bus must think it queer
  To stop each time we get so near
  To other buses that we see
  Parked at the malls or stores, like here.

  Its little engine idles rough
  To ask if I have had enough.
  The only other sound I hear
  Is wiper blades on snowy fluff.

  His bus is lovely, clean and bright,
  A pleasing note of all that's right.
  But I have traffic still to fight,
  And miles to go this winter's night.



       The Craven
           by Edgar Allenwrench NoMoe

  Once upon a midnight frozen,
    As I drove the route I'd chosen,
      Sitting at the wheel until my butt was sore,
  Suddenly, there came a tapping,
    Tapping, as if someone rapping,
      Rapping gently at my sliding door.

  "Tis the wind, " said I to me,
  "Tis the wind, and nothing more."

  Onward through the night I traveled
    As my confidence unraveled,
      Thinking of the noise, the ill it bode.
  Was it just a stone in hubcap?
    Perhaps an unrefastened gas cap?
      Or something worse to break and leave me stranded on the road?

  "Tis the wind," said I to me,
  "Tis the wind, and nothing more."

  In the headlights, snow was falling,
    Still that tapping noise was calling,
      Calling all my senses back from whence it came.
  Perhaps the cv joints need greasing,
    And newer boots would make it pleasing.
      Yes, that's the ticket! That's the one to blame.

  "Tis the joints," I sagely muttered,
  "Tis the joints, and nothing more."

  Then, as if it heard my speaking,
    The noise was silent ... my ears still seeking
      Could find no trace of what I'd heard before.
  On I drove, in silent waiting,
    Waiting for the noise, restating
      In my mind the causes I had thought ... and more.

  "Tis my mind," said I to me,
  "Tis my mind, and nothing more."

  Throughout the trip, no noise resounded,
    But always now my thoughts are grounded
      In the causes of that noise I heard before.
  Like a shadow cast by sunlight,
    My wraith-like fears will follow; and might
      I, from out that shadow, e'er be lifted?
  .... Nevermore.