They stood on the corner and waited long,
Forlorn, unwanted, amid the throng
Of automobiles that passed them by
Nor heeded the glance of their watchful eye.
They hail the driver of each car that comes
With lifted arms and extended thumbs,
But no one offers the longed-for ride
Because of fear or wealth or pride.
Their plight can be likened, I think, somehow,
To the businessman who furrows his brow
Nor gets anywhere in this whole world wide
Till someone more fortunate offers a ride.
August 1, 1937