Last night or the night before that,
|
I won't say which night
|
A seaman friend of mine,
|
I'll not say which seaman,
|
Walked up to a big old building,
|
I won't say which building,
|
And would have not walked up the stairs,
|
not to say which stairs,
|
If there had not been two girls,
|
leaving out the names of those two girls.
|
|
I recall a door, a big long room,
|
I'll not tell which room,
|
I remember a deep blue rug,
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But I can't say which rug,
|
A girl took down a book of poems,
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not to say which book of poems,
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And as she read, I lay my head,
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and I can't tell which head,
|
Down in her lap, and I can mention which lap
|
|
My seaman buddy and girl moved off
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after a couple of pages and there I was,
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All night long, laying and listening
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and forgetting the poems.
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And as well as I could recall
|
or my seaman buddy could recollect,
|
My girl had told us that she was a niece,
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of Walt Whitman, but not which niece,
|
And it takes a night and a girl
|
and a book of this kind
|
A long long time to find its way back
|
|
-----------------
|
Walt Whitman's Niece
|
| Billy Bragg |
