codex002489-061r

Or they stand on the corner
With trifles to sell
That nobody stops to buy
And they gaze on the mass
Of the people who pass
With a weary and listless eye.
They call out their wares in a hopeless tone
Dusters, and brushes, and strings
And their looks seem to say
As you glance that way
"I know you dont want these things"

And the women, with neither beauty or brain
Or charm - but with hearts of gold.
O - I pity them so
As I see them go -
Down pathways lonely and cold.
And I cannot help thinking
There must be a realm
Where things will be evened, a bit
And the play rehearsed here
In new cast will appear
And these poor souls, may yet,
Make a hit.