With profound apologies to T.S.Eliot
The winter evening settles down
To its pallor of smoky days.
And indeed there will be time for Willie
To put on his nightgown,
Time to twinkle his toes,
Time to run through the town.
Upstairs and downstairs,
Follow where he goes
Along passageways with smell of steaks
That forever makes him wrinkle up his nose.
Time to catch him rapping at the window,
Tip-tapping at the lock,
So far to go he will never know
Is it six or eight o’clock,
For the burnt out ends of Willie’s brain
Are grimy scraps going down the drain.
And all the while below silhouetted rows
Of chimney pots are tiny tots
Tucked up in bed
And stray dogs lost on vacant lots,
Until the night its sleepy eyelids drop
Into the shelter of a shuttered shop
Where Willie dosses down
With all the other homeless tramps.
And then the lighting of the lamps.