"Tell All the Gang at Forty-Second Street, That I Will Soon Be There"

I’ve longed your start-lit streets to see
I'd hop a flight, pass hours wee
to George Cohan and cast, who'd greet me.

In spaces square or round, close-knit
where skylarks raise words, Holy Writ,
below her ‘boards I’d feel I fit.

In lullabies of that Birdland
I’d feel a thrill at guests unplanned
then cry for more, you understand?

Whilst Broadway nights entranced my heart
My cash and I would drift apart,
From city fair then I’d depart.