Roads Of India

Decked in yellow standing tall

They don’t answer when you call

They rove the roads of India.

The wooden handles on wooden wheels

Gone with the wind on his heels

They stroll the roads of India.

A hot body with a hot tin roof

Watch your back or you get the hoof

They drive the roads of India.

Their pointed snouts tend to kiss

When they follow in a row it’s hard to miss

They scurry the roads of India.

Slow and steady wins the race

But not when Goliath walks at this pace

They ramble the roads of India.

Carefully read what will come

If you wish to understand some

Who rule the roads of India.

Deep Blue