The Wooden Plow

Years ago, we used to have horse-drawn sidewalk plows that would go throughout the city.

I hear the horse drawn wooden plow
On late snow-fallen night.
And rush to peer through ice designs
To glimpse a peaceful sight.

A horse with bells around his neck
Has hooves that pound in muted sound
And he, who steers the sidewalk plow,
Wears knitted hat and scarf tied 'round.

And from his mounth a stubbed cigar,
His face all-weathered from the cold.
They pause to take a monent's rest;
A man, and tired old horse of gold.

Through flakes of white, an empty street,
And windows glowing bright,
I watch until they disappear,
No hooves or jingling bell I hear.