R. L. Stevenson - The Muse Among The Motors (1900-1930) Now There Is Nothing Wrong With Me Except, I Think It's Called T.B. And That Is Why I Have To Lay Out In The Garden All The Day. Our Garden Is Not Very Wide, And Cars Go By On Either Side, And Make An Angry-Hooty Noise That Rather Startles Little Boys. But Worst Of All Is When They Take Me Out In Cars That Growl And Shake, With Charabancs So Dreadful-Near I Have To Shut My Eyes For Fear. But When I'm On My Back Again, I Watch The Croydon Aeroplane That Flies Across To France, And Sings Like Hitting Thick Piano-Strings. When I Am Strong Enough To Do The Things I'm Truly Wishful To, I'll Never Use A Car Or Train But Always Have An Aeroplane; And Just Go Zooming Round And Round, And Frighten Nursey With The Sound, And See The Angel-Side Of Clouds, And Spit On All Those Motor-Crowds!