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Early every morning, Before the sun can rise, Jangling, jingling jugganauts Drive through our dreaming sighs. Now crackling crates pass down, Stack tight on electric float, Together with bread and eggs And driver in long brown coat. This cheerfull smiling chap, Glides in and out of space Between black shapes left at the kerb, With amazing style and grace. But most impressive of his gifts, (For milkmen are born, not made), The way a dozen bottles fit In one hand and in the shade! Flitting in at each gate way, Silent, silky as a dancer bold, Reading love letters at a glance, "Please leave silver top and gold". XXX. |