A bleak November day bore down
To make us shake and shiver thus
And we in garb so scanty clad
Stood waiting for the noonday bus

T’was fall in drab old St. John’s town
A prelude to the soot-stained snow
The terminal now a bustling place
Grey figures moving to and fro.

The smell of diesel in the nose
Locked there by cold still frigid air
And then when finally aboard the coach
The warmth of welcoming bodies there

The Capital Coach Lines garage located
Just up the street from our abode
Where magic things were done to coaches
Which our young minds never could decode

What memories and smells can conjure
In mind once roaming at free will
So clear the pictures of yesteryear
Evoke at once a special thrill
  Submitted By: John Cornick