Of ARC, fine inflators to weave,
These watchful eyes doth swift perceive,
Violation and dispute, their bane,
As air-bags burst, their claims enflamed.
Now ponder well, thou wilt take heed,
An office jerk, how to know indeed,
For counsel rare, thy burden weigh,
And mend thy ways, do good, we pray.
In quest of No. 177 displayed,
The weary searchers, hearts dismayed,
Their son, still lost, amidst the crash,
With saddened hearts and hope's abash.
