I do not know much of civilization
But I know that a man who lives on a balcony
Suspended on a golden chain of heaven from earth
Is civilized enough.
And this city, proud with terraces of balconies
Is a godly monument to the Phoenician sun,
Turquoise sea and sky.
The streets rejoice
With hymns of struggling men;
Bristling armies of whisker infested flesh
Waxing abrasive without cause.
Arms flailing
Tongues railing...
Bellowing men
Whimpering
Simpering...
Muttering...
Murmuring...
Whispering songs
To the one above
Of indecipherable cause.
There is time enough
On a balcony and
Freedom enough
For a man to wait and ponder...
There are few other necessities.
It is cold for a man
On a balcony
Smoking his pipe
Alone in his shirt sleeves
Thinking outward
In the becoming-blue.
If a man had a wife
On his balcony...
If there were love enough for a child
And the joy of children's laughter in the wind...
There would be time enough
To speak
And for learning to speak
And perhaps coffee
Later on.
A man
His wife
Their child
Happy on a balcony
Is the best that one
Can expect to find
In this
Or any comparable paradise.