MEMORIES OF COUNTRY BUS RIDES
I’ll never forget the brown haired girl
I knew who lived in Framingam Earl
And the love that joined the two of us
As we rode the Eastern Counties bus.
The year was nineteen fifty eight
And eight fifteen was our daily date
The memories are with me yet,
How we bounced about on the cut moquette.
Among the traffic, what could be finer?
‘Twixt Fordson Major and Morris Minor,
And cars that were painted pastel pinks;
Was I a Victor? Was she a Minx?
Ah, life was sweet in those distant days
When hoola hoops were the latest craze
And I was so so much younger then,
For I was nine, and she was ten.