It is said that many a king in troubled Europe would sell his crown for a day of happiness.
I have seen a monarch who held tightly the jewel of happiness.
On Lombard street in Philadelphia, as evening dropped to earth, I gazed upon a laborer duskier than a sky devoid of moon. He was seated on a throne of flour bags, waving his hand imperiously as two small boys played on their guitars the ragtime tunes of the day.
God’s blessing on the monarch who rules on Lombard Street in Philadelphia.