From the Madison Street Police Station

I, John Shepherd, vagrant,

Petition the park commissioners

For wider benches.

My soul has long been reconciled

To the prick of gunny-sack,

( O well-remembered woollen fleeces! )

And rustling vests of newspaper,

And the chill of rubbers on unshod feet,

But to the wasteful burning of dry leaves,

God's shepherd's mattress,

Never!

Descendant of ancient ones

Who tended flocks and watched the midnight sky,

My forebears saw the Eastern star appear

Over Judean hills.

Where do your flocks graze, gentlemen?

Are there no sheep or shepherds any more?

All day long I sought the flocks

And came by night to a wide, grassy place,

Where I could sit and watch the stars wheel by —

And in the morning some one brought me here.