To Go By Singing

by Wendell Berry

He comes along the street, singing,

a rag of a man, with his game foot and bum's clothes.

He's asking for nothing--his hands

aren't even help out. His song

is the gift of singing, to him

and to all who will listen.

To hear him, you'd think the engines

would all stop, and the flower vendor would stand

with her hands full of flowers and not move.

You'd think somebody would have hired him

and provided him a clean quiet stage to sing on.

But there's no special occasion or place

for his singing--that's why it needs

to be strong. His song doesn't impede the morning

or change it, except by freely adding itself.