Those That Have a Place

Those that have a place Where the wild pigeon rings With the soft hammered note, Let them not leave it.

Where the yellowhammer sings And the wind is the rumble from a basso throat, Let them drive a nail In the wall To hang up an old coat.

Where the rain leaks To a rusty pail On the floor, And the jay creaks On the worn boards of the roof.

Those that have a place, Let them wash their hands In the cold spring water And never leave home again.