It was All for Him

I strolled upon the Brooklyn Bridge one day,
Beneath the storm;
None but a lad in rags upon the way
I saw;–there on a bench he lay
Heedless of form.

He seemingly was reading what the Shower
Was publishing upon the Bridge and down
the Bay;
Yet he was writing, writing at this hour,–
Writing in a careless sort of way.

Upon a pad he scribbled and as fast the rain
Retouched, effaced, corrected and revised.
Was he recording Nature’s solemn strain,
Or sketching choristers therein disguised?

Whatever it be, I found myself quite by his side;
My nod and smile he pocketed and wrote
again;
“Read me your drizzling stuff,” I said, and he
replied:
“I’ve written a check in payment for this
shower of rain.”

Ameen Rihani