THE NARROW DOOR
The narrow door, the narrow door
On the three steps of which the café children play
Mostly at shop with pebbles from the shore,
It is always shut this narrow door
But open for a little while to-day.
And round it, each with pebbles in his hand,
A silenced crowd the café children stand
To see the long box jerking down the bend
Of twisted stair; then set on end,
Quite filling up the narrow door
Till it comes out and does not go in any more.
Along the quay you see it wind,
The slow black line. Someone pulls up the blind
Of the small window just above the narrow door—
“Tiens! que veux-tu acheter?” Rénée cries,
“Mais, pour quat’sous, des oignons,” Jean replies
And one pays down with pebbles from the shore.