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Written about a momentary reflection in St. Paul, Minnesota

They Dance on Grand Street

Winter growls like a big, white bear in the morning light
and it looks in at the window pane.
She gets up and pulls the shade down low,
as the radio comes on.
Outside, there’s a whole world waking up
and marking time like any other day.
Maybe they’ll just stay inside and waste the day away.
He says anything she wants to do today will be okay.

So they walk to gether and they laugh like children
and they whisper soft, white clouds in the winter grey.
And they talk it over. And they hold each other.
And they dance on Grand Street in the middle of the day.

Later on, as the sun climbs high
and the traffic thins just a little, in the afternoon,
After all the secrets have been shared
that are only theirs alone,
They head up the street for tea and sandwiches
bundled up in one another’s arms.
It’s nothing that unusual; it’s just another day
except for how the touch of just one certain hand
can take the chill away.

So they walk to gether and they laugh like children
and they whisper soft, white clouds in the winter grey.
And they talk it over. And they hold each other.
And they dance on Grand Street in the middle of the day.

Winter shivers into evening all too soon,
and buries roses in the snow;
drawing icy crystal circles ‘round the moon,
and in the silver glow
down on the street below…

They walk to gether and they laugh like children
and they whisper soft, white clouds in the winter grey.
And they talk it over. And they hold each other.
And they dance on Grand Street in the middle of the day.


© Bob Ryan for Leaping Armadillo; March 1994; Phoenix, AZ