This Dingy Street
The dingy street ,with dirty urchins playing
Rending the smoky air with eldritch eyries,-
Gay gathering of dogs,flea ridden,baying,
I look at these and hope within me,dies!
Wintry the two bare trees,in grim persistence
Hold up thin arms in supplicating prayer
As if they too would end this drab existence
And start afresh in unpolluted air.
Oh,for the chance to find a little cot
Upon a hill,where birds would sing at morn
Where city`s dust and crowds would be forgot
And spring would ride o`er fields of emerald corn!
With fingers soft the breeze would touch my face
Bringing a message from my Love,the sea.
I’d feel the wordless sweetness of god’s grace,
How tranquil then my aching heart would be?
But here relentlessly,life hastens on-
Though each hour drags,each hour deadly loss.
Before I can escape,will life be gone
And all earths` beauties turn to dust and dross?
January 1950
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Written in desperation in Spring Garden St Paul’s Worcester
