The 20a Bus

In the line you hear a chatter.
Up and down a clatter, clatter.
Noisy schoolgirls scream and shout,
pushing in and pushing out.

Down the street the red bus trundles.
Girls surge forward all in bundles.
On at last, but what a rush,
banged my elbows in the crush.

I don't know what it's coming to!
said the lady with big buttons, who
had a habit to pursue
the trivial things young children do.

And when the bus stops in the street
I kick her underneath the seat.
And when the lady stops her chat
I pull the cherries from her hat.