Shoe Shine Boy
Chicago train station, midst their porcelain tunnels
You would hear this young voice cry.
' Shine! ', 'Fifty cents! '
As daily commuters rushing home would pass on by.
Sitting on a shoeshine box
In the cold dim of this porcelain maize.
While down a bit, was a man who would sit
and on his torn violin, some old time tunes he'd play.
These sounds are as I remember them
of an era long now passed.
While at that time, I thought these days
cries of a shoe shine boy
and violin old time music would last.
How naive was I then, to have ever thought this way
for all eventually will fade from view.
I shall always remember, the cries of the shoe shine boy
and the violins oldtime songs, of the Chicago that I knew.
poem by Linda Winchell
Added by Poetry Lover
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