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Arthur Guiterman (Артур Гитерман) The Traveler Oh, who would choose to be a traveler?— That anxious railway-guide unraveler Who spends his nights in berths and bunks, His days in chaperoning trunks; Who stands in line at gates and wickets To spend his means on costly tickets To Irkutsk, Liverpool and Yap And other dots upon the map. He never rests, but always hurries From place to place, beset with worries About hotels and future trips And just how much to give in tips. He plods through galleries, museums, Cathedrals, castles, colosseums, And villages reputed quaint With patience worthy of a saint To give his friends the chance of hooting, "You didn't visit Little Tooting?!!" Arthur Guiterman's other poems:
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