Nostalgia in a pint bottle (and they are still pints!).
I remember the milkman’s horse.
It would stop outside our gate
While the milkman put its nosebag on
And I wondered what it ate.
My Dad would thank the milkman’s horse
For he would often find
A bucketful of free manure
The horse had left behind.
How times have changed! No milkman’s horse,
No nosebag, no manure.
Electric floats, though smooth and quiet
Don’t have the same allure.
But the milk they bring is just as good,
(Nostalgic, me? No fear!)
In one-pint bottles, made of glass,
The same as yesteryear.