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Poem	He took the grade in second - quite a climb, Dizzy and dangerous, yet how sublime! The road went up and up; it curved around The mountain and the gorge grew more profound. He drove serenely, with no hint of haste; And then she felt his arm go round her waist. She shrank: she did not know him very well, Being like her a guest at the hotel. Nice, but a Frenchman. On his driving hand He wore like benedicks a golden band . . . Well, how could she with grace refuse a drive So grand it made glad to be alive? Yet now she heard him whisper in her ear: "Don't be afraid. With one hand I can steer, With one arm hold you . . . Oh what perfect bliss! Darling, please don't refuse me just one kiss. Here, nigh to Heaven, let is us rest awhile . . . Nay, don't resist - give me your lips, your smile . . ." So there in that remote and dizzy place He wrestled with her for a moment's space, Hearing her cry: "Oh please, please let me go! Let me get out . . . You brute, release me! No, no, NO!" . . . In that ravine was found their burnt-out car - Their bodies trapped and crisped into a char.
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