On The Streets Where I Live

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On the street where I live was illustrated by the pupils from fourth class. Each page has a different illustration along with different lines of the poem "On the street where I live" which is written by American poet Cynthia Millen.

The book came about while Cynthia was on a visit to the school, to her surprise she arrived to a recitation of the poem by the girls. They had chosen to learn it by heart because they felt it was an accurate representation of their own neighborhood around North William Street in Dublin. One thing led to another with the girls and this book is the result.

Below is a picture of the book followed by the poem within, click on the links within the poem, to view drawings by the children. Press the back button to return to this page.

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Just before morning my street is so still.
There's only the tinkling of milk bottles clinking and barely an inkling of light on the sill where the moonspirits sleep as they stretch out their feet through the windowshade's lace cross the room to my space on the bed where I think in the stillness.

Just before morning that's when I think. Here on the street where I live. Early most mornings I jump out of bed to take in the bottles the milkman has left then race to the heater where I warm my feet to the hot kettle whistling sausages sizzling cup and spoon jingling in the hall mingling, dogs barking, bus stopping, kerb talking, feet stomping songs of my street in the morning.

Early most mornings that's what I hear, here on the street where I live. Where I live the houses are all joined together -- row upon row one right after the other. They all seem the same but I see that they're not by the different coloursand patterns I spot.

One door is green another is blue and one door has diamonds of glass I see through. Some folks have curtains, some just have shades, but most people hang up their very best lace. And under their windows more often than not, are flowers that grow from a windowsill box. That's what I see when I walk down my street Here on the street where I live.

When I'm on a message I always am greeted by friends in the shops where my nose is treated to sweet-smelling, yeast-swelling lip-licking scents of apple popovers and slow-rising cakes, trays full of tarts and scones made with wheaten and just about everything else I love eating! Doing my messages that's what I smell, Near the street where I live.

Early most evenings after we've eaten, we stop 'round at Willie's where I buy a sweet and then pop 'round to Granny's for two cups of tea or stop just for talking with friends that we see because all of the people who live on my street know one another and talk when they meet. And that's what I do when I walk down my street, here on the street where I live.

Late in the evening I sit on the stoop next to the spot where the empties are put. And while all the others are busy inside I gaze at the part of the sky in between the edges of the rooftops lining mu street. And there are the stars that shine down on me and brighten my stoop and carry my dreams, here on the street where I live.

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