Half a mile, half a mile,
Half a mile onwardā
All in the valley of brake lights
Crawled the six hundred.
Blinkers to right of them,
Blinkers to left of them,
Blinkers ahead of them
Flashed and surrendered;
Horn blasts volleyed and tolled,
Tempers heated and scrolled,
While noble commuters bold
Idled and wondered.
Tennyson stuck in traffic?








