Classic Poem

Feet, feet, feet,
The endless tread and beat
Of clicking heel or shuffling sole
Pouring out from the subway hole.

Pretty feet, trim and neat,
Trip the steps to gain the street,
Feather-light and blithely gay,
Eager to be on their way—
Life is young, brimful of joys,
Naught they know of what annoys.

Lead feet, dead feet,
Bearing corpses to the street,
Crawling up with hopeless drag,
Wander aimlessly, and lag
As though they had left life behind
While they keep on their tread-mill grind.

High heels, low heels,
Worn heels, no heels,
Hurry up and scurry out,
Twist and turn and dart about.
Squeaking newness, wornout toe,
Whence do you come, where do you go?
Where do you carry these human bubbles—
To beckoning joys or frowning troubles?

My eyes are lost in the endless stream,
And my senses numbed in a lotus-dream
By the pounding thud and dull repeat
Of the thump, thump, thump on the pavement street,
Will they ever end their upward toil,
And the human caldron cease to boil?
A moment's ebb, then the train's loud roar,
And the lava belches forth once more
From the subway crater, and thousands of feet
Jostle their loads up into the street,
And scatter them on every hand
As they were so much wind-blown sand.
Heigh-ho for the joy, and, alas, for the care,
The myriad mingle of life is there!