They sport in the warm breeze of Roxbury.
St Patrick's Church looks out on Dudley Street.
Nuns and priests pray for the needs of Roxbury.
Trucks lumber toward Blue Hill; small cars crawl.
The faces that one sees in Roxbury
Are sad as sunshine, joyous as the rain:
Lampposts wear dungarees in Roxbury.
Ten-hour work-days, Sunday celebrations:
Heaven, bless the days and weeks of Roxbury!
My tricky ticker thrills from top to tip
Whenever my soul speaks of Roxbury!
Hip-hop blares from a brick apartment-house.
No flower excels the weeds of Roxbury!
A kitten jostles the hill-top pussy-willows;
Cold ghosts of preachers sneeze in Roxbury.
Make holiday among the triple-deckers,
Wake up the stones, the streets of Roxbury!
Is this a congenial corner? Paradise
Shines from the souls you meet in Roxbury.
The Number 15 bus receives the sun
Of mid-morning. Come, please, to Roxbury.
Dandelions, let your yellow hair down;
Daffodils, grow from the seeds of Roxbury!
Spring, the sweet spring, is the year's pleasant king:
It's over sixty degrees in Roxbury!
Schoolgirls shout for joy—class dismissed!
An imam quotes Hafiz in Roxbury.
The holy women of Fogo and Porto Novo
Say litanies in Portuguese—hail, Roxbury!
Politicians pamphleteer, shake hands;
Blushing roses bleed in Roxbury.
O Thomas, attend the blithesome liturgy
Of Maytime; buzz, you bees of Roxbury!