John B Keane RIP
The Street
By John B Keane
I love the flags that pave the walk.
I love the mud between,
The funny figures drawn in chalk.
I love to hear the sound
Of drays upon their round,
Of horses and their clock-like walk.
I love to watch the corner-people gawk
And hear what underlies their idle talk.
I love to hear the music of the rain.
I love to hear the sound
Of yellow waters flushing in the main.
I love the breaks between
When little boys begin
To sail their paper galleons in the drain.
Grey clouds sail west and silver-tips remain.
The street, thank God, is bright and clean again.
Here, within a single little street,
Is everything that is,
Of pomp and blessed poverty made sweet
And all that is of love Of man and God above.
Of happiness and sorrow and conceit,
Of tragedy and death and bitter-sweet,
Of hope, despair, illusion and defeat.
A golden mellow peace forever clings
Along the little street.
There are so very many lasting things
Beyond the wall of strife
In our beleaguered life.
There are so many lovely songs to sing
Of God and His eternal love that rings
Of simple people and of simple things.
