Let us forget that it is spring and celebrate the riderless will of five victims.
Old companions are sitting silent in the home. Five of their number have suddenly gone too far; as if waifs,
As if orphans were to swim without license. Their ride was not lucky. It took them very far out of bounds.
Mrs. Watson said she saw them all go at three-forty-five. Their bell had rung too loud and too late.
It was a season when water is too cold for anyone, and is especially icy for an old person.
The brazen sedan was not to be trusted. The wheels went too well for one short and straight journey. It was the last: the doors did not open.
Dimly and too late they saw themselves on a very wicked lawn. May God have mercy on their recreation!
Let us accordingly pay homage to five now legendary persons, the very chaste daughters of one unlucky ride.
Let the perversity of a machine become our common study, while I name loudly five loyal spouses of death!