Strange

There was this strange little
man, with his hat in both
hands, singing, “tra, dee, da,
dee.”

And a scholar, all dressed to the
nines, passing, flicked him a
dime, whistling, “tra, dee, da,
dee.”

Tra. Tra, dee da. Dee, da dee.
Tra. Tra, dee da. Dee, da dee.

And the bookseller slid him a
leather-bound, wished him fair
weather, hummed, “tra, dee, da,
dee.”

And the good priest, then, bowing his
head, said, “please, take this good
bread,” and thought, “tra, dee, da,
tra, dee da dee.”

Tra. Tra, dee da. Dee, da dee.
Tra. Tra, dee da. Dee, da dee.

And he’d walk down to the dock
with all his skipping rocks
weighing down
his front pockets.

And the dead man he buried that
day, as they filled in his
grave, sung out, “tra, dee, da,
dee.”

And the sparrow that sat on the
stone, which had since over-
grown, sung out,
“tra, tra, dee da.”