Through alleys of sunset, a woman does hover,
She weeps: Give me back the straw, my lover.

Behind her a crowd, with water and rope,
That would not give back her straw and her hope.

Her yellow shawl slips off of her shoulder,
From afar — a firetruck comes, ringing bolder.

And no one in the crowd, shouting and raw,
Will grasp: can you fall in love with a straw?

1940