As I lie on my pallet at night
I hear from the street the sound of passing footsteps;
And I can sort and name these passing footsteps.
There are the truculent steps of the seeker after trouble,
There are the fearful feet of those who are not at ease
In the implacable streets.
There are the fugitive feet of crime,
And the solemn reassuring tread of big policemen;
And the interrupted steps of the revellers,
And the fleet feet of those who have purchased trouble.But those that tread most heavily on my heart
Are the light and lingering footsteps of tired young women.