I dreamt a dream at the midnight deep, <br />When fancies come and go <br />To vex a man in his soothing sleep <br />With thoughts of awful woe -- <br />I dreamed that I was the corner man <br />Of a nigger minstrel show. <br />I cracked my jokes, and the building rang <br />With laughter loud and long; <br />I hushed the house as I softly sang <br />An old plantation song -- <br />A tale of the wicked slavery days <br />Of cruelty and wrong. <br /> <br />A small boy sat on the foremost seat -- <br />A mirthful youngster he, <br />He beat the time with his restless feet <br />To each new melody, <br />And he picked me out as the brightest star <br />Of the black fraternity. <br /> <br />"Oh, father," he said, "what would we do <br />If the corner man should die? <br />I never saw such a man -- did you? <br />He makes the people cry, <br />And then, when he likes, he makes them laugh." <br />The old man made reply: <br /> <br />"We each of us fill a very small space <br />On the great creation's plan, <br />If a man don't keep his lead in the race <br />There's plenty more that can; <br />The world can very soon fill the place <br />Of even a corner man." <br /> <br />I woke with a jump, rejoiced to find <br />Myself at home in bed, <br />And I framed a moral in my mind <br />From the words the old man said. <br />The world will jog along just the same <br />When the corner men are dead.<br /><br />Andrew Barton Paterson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-corner-man/
