I pity the pedestrian
That knows no life of ease
Just a swirl of salt-like snow
And a thousand ways to freeze
I pity the pedestrian
His burden and his fate
His bags all filled with groceries
His always cautious gait
I pity the pedestrian
And all that he must bear
The mittens, toques and sweaters
And his long underwear.
The ice that scales the sidewalks
Provides no solid step
The rising hills that he must climb
Are all lined with regret
The cars around which he must dodge
Puffing as he goes
Do not see him there at all
Smothered in his clothes
His ever stolid progress
His determined pace
Are nothing to the elements
That mock him to his face
Yes, I pity the pedestrian
Weather’s weathered pawn
Tenacious to no purpose
Against the winter’s brawn.
(There is an unconfirmed rumour that these are the original lyrics to Dylan’s “I Pity the Poor Immigrant,” dating back to his Minnesota days. Okay. So I made that rumour up.)