He writes rhymes for his friends' children

Dotes on mystery stories

And at the slightest provocation he sings folk songs

Of key and in key

Here and there people sat on benches

Reading newspapers or straining their faces to the sun

Their eyes closed

Trying to catch a bit of sunburn to carry home proudly

He pulled his feet under his bench as he was ashamed of his shoes

His dog loves to walk and travel in cars, in planes, on rafts, in elevators and on escalators.

Then we'll let some daylight into it for once if it kills us right on the spot

No sort of middle state, no easy jog trot with him

If he never wrote when he wasn't in the mood

He would make no headway

Ololo