Down among the docks and elevators and railroad tracks
On the way out of the city,
I pass a tiny cottage so rickety
That its neighbors crowd close
To hold it up. But there it is,
Its one window shining clean, and glowing
With a plant in a tin can and pure white curtains.
Hanging over the fence and filling the whole place
With its beauty and almost hiding the cottage
Is a peach tree in full bloom.
In the doorway I glimpse a girl
In a purple dress.
But what matters the smoke and the noise and the fog
To the peach tree?