Ice on the Highway

Seven buxom women abreast, and arm in arm,
        Trudge down the hill, tip-toed,
                And breathing warm;
They must perforce trudge thus, to keep upright
        On the glassy ice-bound road,

And they must get to market whether or no,
        Provisions running low
                With the nearing Saturday night,
While the lumbering van wherein they mostly ride
Can nowise go:
        Yet loud their laughter as they stagger and slide!

Yell'ham Hill