Street Song

Fortunate lady, with rings like stars

And a necklace of pacific pearl,

Your child like a jewel

Is set in your silver arms,

And the breath of your love

Is a velvet box to keep her from harm.

In silks like the bird-embroidered air

And in the burnish of summer's brocades

You clothe her, where she glows

Iridescent in the red flame of your gold

That shall warm her like a fire

When summer's sunflowers have gone down

in the cold.

Could I but catch the humming bird

Or trap the dancing parakeet,

Or weave a fishing net

For the cold coins of light that spin

In the running river: then like a new rose

Might she lie against my earthen skin.

But I have a son the colour of clay,

Brocaded bright with disease:

He is my single ragged garment,

My hard and bitter loaf;

My faggot of sticks to sweep the streets,

And the magic livelihood of my love.