(Villanelle from my window.)
He stands at the kerb and sings.
’Tis a doleful tune and slow,
Ah me, if I had but wings!
He bends to the coin one flings,
But he never attempts to go,—
He stands at the kerb and sings.
The conjurer comes with his rings.
And the Punch-and-Judy show.
Ah me, if I had but wings!