Commute

Why art thy arteries narrow?
A mystic's mute commute
Needeth a horn much less a flute.
Meditateth in the BEST
And prayeth for the rest...
Forgiveth the errant polluter
Or his miserable counterpart the smoker;
He that diggeth, covereth, then diggeth again.
To bury the mistakes never seemeth to end.
We hope so very often,

Whoso knoweth the difficulties of reaching Beautiful Borough, 

Ye haveth a better tomorrow.