LIFE
Where two could creep:One hand the tools,The other peepTo make sure all’s asleep.Old-fashioned eyes,Not easy to surprise!
How orderly the kitchen’d look by night,With just a clock,—But they could gag the tick,And mice won’t bark;And so the walls don’t tell,None will.
A pair of spectacles ajar just stir—An almanac’s aware.Was it the mat winked,Or a nervous star?The moon slides down the stairTo see who’s there.
There’s plunder,—where?Tankard, or spoon,Earring, or stone,A watch, some ancient broochTo match the grandmamma,Staid sleeping there.
Day rattles, too,Stealth’s slow;The sun has got as farAs the third sycamore.Screams chanticleer,“Who’s there?”
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