You can spot the Silver Street kids at school –
they glimmer and dart, like fish in a pool –
and their mothers are slim, and their hair is pale,
and they whisper and sway, like trees in a gale,
and their fathers walk to a silent beat-
that’s the way that they roll, in Silver Street.
There isn’t much to see by day,
When the doors are shut, and the pavements are grey,
but lamplit stalls selling curious treats
come out at night, on Silver Street,
and a silver coin is what you must pay
for a bottle of dreams, or a charm to say,
And on moonlit nights, when the air is sweet,
there’s singing and dancing on Silver Street,
though sensible people stay away
when the Silver Street fiddles start to play,
for you never know just who you might meet
when the dancing starts on Silver Street –
For a Silver Street boy might tempt you to stay,
or a Silver Street girl might whisk you away,
so turn your back, and plant your feet
when the music starts up on Silver Street.
They shimmer and gleam, like fish in a pool –
you can spot the Silver Street kids at school.
I’m hosting at dVerse tonight – come and join us! We’re getting poetic about street names – the strange, the unusual, the quirkier the better. The dVerse bar is open for words, rhymes, rhythms and imagination. You’ll like it there.