Going to Frank's

September 12, 1990|By Gilbert Byron (1938)

Sometime in the night,

Damp and bedraggled,

The town surrenders

When the fog marches in;

Misty street lights tremble

When the hoarse horn shouts;

Good people turn the tumblers

In their front door locks.

But I like to wander

Down by the river docks.

Every passing footstep

Is half a ghost now.

The world is small enough,

I can be happy now --

Going to Frank's

For an oyster stew.

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