Walt Whitman's Niece

Last night or the night before that

I won't say which night

A seaman friend of mine

I'll not say which seaman

Walked up to a big old building

I won't say which building

And would not have walked up the stairs

Not to say which stairs

If there had not been two girls

Leaving out the names of those two girls

I recall a door, a big long room

I´ll not tell which room

I remember a big blue rug

But I can't say which rug

A girl took down a book of poems

Not to say which book of poems

And as she read I laid my head

And I can't tell which head

Down in her lap, and I can mention which lap

My seaman buddy and girl moved off

After a couple of pages and there I was

All night long, laying and listening

And forgetting the poems

And as well as I could recall

Or my seaman could recollect

My girl had told us that she was a niece

Of Walt Whitman, but not which niece

And it takes a night and a girl

And a book of this kind

A long, long time to find its way back