While you were sleeping last night. I walked down a lonely street. It was shadowy, nothing stirred, all buildings were in darkness. But there was one window that called out. It said, I am a window that used to be part of a busy factory. Little boys used to peer through my dirty glass and watch workmen in flat caps toiling in gloomy conditions. But then the machines stopped, and I was broken. A relentless desolation. The little boys grew older, and they longed to see what mysteries I shielded. I could have told them that there was nothing but discarded tools, benches, old newspapers, cigarette ends, and wretched rats. Only these old railings stalled their curiosity. And now, I am born-again. A young man lives here. Perhaps the great-grandson of one of those little boys of the past. He’s starting out in the university of life with his books and music. But he is vulnerable to prying eyes, and these railings still keep them out, and I offer him warmth and protection, and I tell all, that behind me, this boy is comfortable.
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