A Hot Time In The Old Town

Guns salute, and crows and pigeons fly, Bronzed, Homeric bards go striding by, Shouting “Glory” amid the cannonade:-- It is the cross-roads Resurrection Parade.

Actors, craftsmen, builders, join the throng, Painters, sculptors, florists tramp along, Farm-boys prance, in tinsel, tin and jade:-- It is the cross-roads Love and Laughter Crusade.

The sun is blazing big as all the sky, The mustard-plant with the sunflower climbing high, With the Indian corn in fiery plumes arrayed:-- It is the cross-roads Love and Beauty Crusade.

Free and proud and mellow jamboree, Roar and foam upon the prairie sea, Tom turkeys sing the sun a serenade:-- It is the cross-roads Resurrection Parade.

Our sweethearts dance, with wands as white as milk, With veils of gold and robes of silver silk, Their caps in velvet pansy-patterns made:-- It is the cross-roads Resurrection Parade.

Wandering ’round the shrines we understand, Waving oak-boughs cheap and close at hand, And field-flowers fair, for which no man has paid:-- It is the cross-roads Love and Beauty Crusade.

Hieroglyphic marchers here we bring. Rich inscriptions strut and talk and sing. A scroll to read, a picture-word brigade:-- It is the cross-roads Love and Laughter Crusade.

Swans for symbols deck the banners rare, Mighty acorn-signs command the air, For hearts of oak, by flying beauty swayed:-- It is the cross-roads Resurrection Parade.

The flags are big, like rainbows flashing ’round, They spread like sails, and lift us from the ground, Star-born ships, that have come in masquerade:-- It is the cross-roads Resurrection Parade.