In Town

SOMEWHERE there's a willow budding In a hollow by the river, Where the autumn leaves lie sodden, Turning all the pool to brown; There's a thrush who's building early, With his feathers all a-shiver, And the maple sap is rising— But I'm glad that I'm in town.

Somewhere out there in the country There's a brook that's overflowing, And a quaker pussy-willow Sews grey velvet on her gown; Rushes whisper to each other That marsh marigolds are showing, And those saucy crocus fellows— But I'm glad that I'm in town.

Long ago, when we were younger, How those little things enthralled us; King-birds nesting in the hedges, Baby field-mice soft as down, Muskrats in the sun-warmed shallows— Strange how all these voices called us!— Hark, was that a robin singing? When's the next train out of town?