He doesn’t know how
he can keep from singing.
He sings in the strangest places –
at his sunny desk,
in rain-washed streets,
in the produce section
among lettuces and onions.
He lets the music
make him merry,
whatever the world is doing.
While death does its drumming
all around him,
he sings the way wind blows,
because he has to,
because who can stop the wind?
