THE

SQUARE

MISS

by

JAY HOWARD

one

The sun loves Rittenhouse ..

In through the leaves of trees

It winds, and falls in streaks here And in splashes there.

Up and down the walks

And on the green-turning lawns.

It scatters on the marble-encased pool And on the heads of children playing there.

Children of the rich.

Curly-haired and bright-haired children, With shining toys and beautiful manners, With mademoiselles and frauleins

On benches, watching.

The pigeons flutter about boldly,

And the tiniest child holds out its arms

To receive a bird's caress.

They are not afraid, these children, Of Rittenhouse.

They have played there long enough To learn that pigeons are gentle. What a lesson! The children I know Play in city streets and learn that Automobiles kill!

The moon, too, loves Rittenhouse. On early Spring evenings

It lingers on the tops of trees And coats the paths with silver.

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