|She was a
child of the streets,
that girl and her dog.
Yes, a girl, no woman yet,
swaddled in blankets on the winter
thoroughfare in the rain.
Her dog, as dogs do,
gazed sadly at the future of hunger and
I had come
out of a French restaurant
where I had eaten well, with my wife of
that girl the last five pounds in my wal[et,
but there would be more.
ln the busy evening that girl returned to
the gift of poetry as I felt for her and
I have known of the cold arithmetic of