Crying baby on the train,
Will no one rid me of the pain?
Gurgles, wonders, blows a fart,
Then howls to tear a mother's heart.
The poor sod in the seat behind
Struggles to keep her out of mind.
Vexation seems a bit too strong
And yet this din goes on too long.
We all were once so small and wee,
and no doubt reeked of stale nappie,
And so we must forbear to curse,
and confine our reveries to verse.