The cat falls asleep on the table

Asleep on the papers he loves

The sheets covered with fantastic kabbala

A music constructed of fine wood

The garret peers dustily down

The children's shots ring from the stones

Working class children play in the streets

The man walks in like a creaking metronome

Wearing one of his dozen identical suits

His friends X. and Z. call to hear him play

& now & again a booming laugh

Like the bassest bell in a churchtower

Issues from the lungs of this small dapper man

Dressed, like a carving, in brown corduroy