The Ice-Cream Poem

When summer’s in the city,
And brick’s a blaze of heat,
The Ice-cream Man with his little cart
Goes trundling down the street.
Beneath his round umbrella,
Oh, what a joyful sight,
To see him fill the cones with mounds
Of cooling brown and white
Vanilla, chocolate, strawberry,
Or chilly things to drink
From bottles full of frosty fizz,
Green, orange, white, or pink.
His cart might be a flower bed,
Of roses and sweet peas,
The way the children cluster round
As thick as honeybees.