Speed

Not so.  The careful driver who
Restrains his car, like I and you,
   Is rarely heading for that place
   Where water drips upon the face
And sad friends suffer by one's side
That one may be identified.

Who drive a cautious twenty-five
May reasonably stay alive
   And shun that place where, aptly grieved,
   "From information I received."
Grave cops give evidence to show
How, why and where the scorchers go.

But he who hits the sixty mark,
Taking wild chances in the dark
   Beneath the Speed Fiend's urgent goad,
   He's on the road!  He's on the road!
Him for the Morgue, forlorn and drab.
Him for the cold, hard marble slab.