Classic Poem

Sometimes I have to cross the road
When some one isn't there
Except a man in uniform
Who takes a lot of care;
I do not call him Officer
As other people do,
I thank him most politely,
And call him Bobby Blue.

He's very big, and every one
Does everything he tells,
The motor-cars with hooters
And the bicycles with bells;
And even when I cross the road
With other people too,
I always say as I go by,
“Good-morning, Bobby Blue.”