Song Against Street Numbers

by Gladys McKee


We live in a house
On the top of a hill,
With sun for a carpet
And flowers for the sill,
Our teakettle sings,
Our forks and our spoons
Are made of the silver
Of tender young moons;
And I turn my head,
Pretend not to hear,
When neighbors insist,
"She lives in the rear."


They staunchly deny
Three stair-flights can be
The same as the top
Of a green hill to me,
And only when stars
Dip low in the night
Can I keep on saying
"They're wrong and I'm right."