Nighthawk's Café

In Greenwich it's late

1:15

Phillies for 5 cents,

Cupp'a Joe for three

One man's reading

The other puffs a smoke

A lady in red, sits with them,

Strong-arming a sandwich whole

Two vats are a brewin'

The diner lights the street

This Café on the corner

Where the windows curve to meet

The night lingers still

Two roads fast asleep

The waiter dressed in white

Keeps the tables clean

Nighthawks are about

On an early morning stroll

A painters point of view

My hands within my coat

This, I tip my hat

To honor as I part

Then I turn my back

Michigan Avenue at Grant Park

When I place my feet

On those Chicago streets

Those Nighthawks I remember

For they remain inside of me.