SOME OLD MEN
Nobody understands why these indigent sweepers keep showing up exactly here
Every evening at the edge of the Tuileries park
To sweep the garden with sweeping equipment of past days
Their eyes are dim their hands can barely grip their brooms
Faggot brooms bound with old rushes and things
And they chatter with excited gestures
And should a lady go by wearing only a grey fur coat, high-heeled shoes, and
stockings with ragged runs in them,
Beneath which is a frock torn partly to shreds
They smile at her understandingly, and then begin to whistle innocently
and stare up at the sky...
Companion of my days, Companion of my evening secrecy!
Oh this must be our favorite spot in the Tuileries--
Shaded and calm and only slightly dusty...
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