Poem: The Lonely House

The Lonely House

 I know some lonely houses off the road A robber 'd like the look of, - Wooden barred, And windows hanging low, Inviting to A portico, Where two could creep: One hand the tools, The other peep To 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 stair To see who's there. There's plunder, - where? Tankard, or spoon, Earring, or stone, A watch, some ancient brooch To match the grandmamma, Staid sleeping there. Day rattles, too, Stealth's slow; The sun has got as far As the third sycamore. Screams chanticleer, "Who's there?" And echoes, trains away, Sneer - "Where?" While the old couple, just astir, Fancy the sunrise left the door ajar! 
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