Mr. Wenceslas

Poem By S. J. Fulton

Mr. Wenceslas went out
From his door one morning.
So much smog was round about
He couldn’t see the dawning.
He went to work as usual,
On the IRT,
The train stalled in a tunnel, oh,
What a place to be-e-e!

Haze filled up the train car and car-
Bon monoxide, too.
They choked and gasped, they cried and coughed,
Oh what were they to do?
For five long hours they stayed in there,
Each felt as dull as lead.
Then someone looked at Wenceslas.
My God! The man was dea-ea-ead!

Mrs. Wenceslas went out
In the funeral car.
Her husband would be buried in
New Jersey—pretty far.

But in the Holland Tunnel there
Were seventy cars times seven,
And that’s how Mrs. Wenceslas
Joined Wenceslas in Hea-ea-ven!

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