Leather Lane
Three restless gas-jets
In Leather Lane;
A thousand faces,
Wandering in the night,
Too dull for pain.
God saw;
God quenched the light.
But God had not choked
The clamor of gaunt curses
That stalk in Leather Lane,
Uncloaked,
Blatant with strength of dour years.
God heard;
God stopped His ears.
Ho!
God had forgot His nose,
And in the stench that rose
From Leather Lane,
God died.
—Mitchell Dawson.
Etchings
Alexander S. Kaun