A Woman was Singing Somewhere
A dog ran across the street and a girl hurried after him, calling Roger, Roger. The mechanic struck a match on his boot-sole. The butcher wiped his hands on his apron stained pink. In the fields outside town the birds chattered and then a gun cracked, then silence, then the birds chattering again. Faint, but certainly a kind of music— even the young man heard it and lifted the rope from his neck, stepped down carefully off his chair and opened the window. Yes, a woman was singing somewhere and his lips parted too, though he did not know the words. It was the first day of May. A train clattered by. Not far away the war was starting.