How could he tell them
There was a sleek small vixen
With a silken pelt
Who held his heart in thrall?
How could he tell them when that call
Came down the wind
His bones were thinn'd
With longing,
And he turned his back
On the pack?
Even he couldn't tell the strange enchanted reason Why fall should suddenly be so fair a season!
Spring Comes to a Small Town
The pool players
That all winter long have lingered lazily
over the green-topped tables
Half-somnolent in the cloud of cigarette smoke,
Are seen lounging at precarious angles
Against the nearest tobacconist's windows.
Teen-age boys and girls link arms, and
Roller-skate on the paved streets,
Shoulders touching; and laughter like
a living thing between them.
Later, in the summer they will dance on Saturday evenings
Under gaudy Chinese lanterns.
And the prophecy of spring will be fulfilled.
A short stout lady bustles off her doorstep
Broom in hand
To do a little sweeping;
Her knitted suit fits closely
Like the sleek, green plumage of a plump
soft bird.
Babies… babies — everywhere
Bouncing busily in their prams —
Eyes like bits of rain-washed sky…
And everyone exclaiming as they ride past
"Isn't he a darling!"
Old, old gentlemen taking little walks,
Their canes tapping the sidewalk
More and more confidently.
You can see how they feel about the sun,
It's a downright comfort!
Everything looks suddenly clean and shining.
The lettuce in the fruit-shop window
has a fresh-cut look
Like an accidental bouquet;
It suddenly becomes imperative to
speak to someone
And it doesn't matter in the least
If a perfect stranger goes white with surprise
When you tell them "It's a lovely day!"…
In no uncertain terms.
Spring comes to a small town
In rather a special sort of way!
After all, she can't add an awful lot to
Fifth Avenue,
But there's room for just her kind of glamour
On Main Street!