Geplaatst op

oktober 2010

A wagon stopped before the house; she heard The heavy oilskins of the grocer’s man Slapping against his legs. Of a sudden whirred Her heart like a frightened partridge, and she ran And slid the bolt, leaving his entrance free; Then in the cellar way till he was gone Hid, breathless, praying that he might not see The chair sway she had laid her hand upon In passing. Sour and damp from that dark vault Arose to her the well-remembered chill; She saw the narrow wooden stairway still Plunging into the earth, and the thin salt Crusting the crocks; until she knew him far, So stood, with listening eyes upon the empty doughnut jar.