I painted on the roof of a skyscraper. 
I painted a long while and called it a day's work. 
The people on the corner swarmed and the traffic cop's whistle never let up all afternoon. 
They were the same as bugs, many bugs on their way-- 
These people on the go or at a standstill; 
And the traffic cop a spot of blue, a splinter of brass, 
Where the black tids ran around him 
And he kept the street. I painted a long while 
And called it a day's work.