I EACH morn she crackles upward, tread by tread, All apprehensive of some hideous sight: Perhaps the Fourth Floor Back, who reads in bed, Forgot his gas and let it burn all night -- The Sweet Young Thing who has the middle room, She much suspects: for once some ink was spilled, And then the plumber, in an hour of gloom, Found all the bathroom pipes with tea-leaves filled. No League of Nations scheme can make her gay -- She knows the rank duplicity of man; Some folks expect clean towels every day, They'll get away with murder if they can! She tacks a card (alas, few roomers mind it) @3Please leave the tub as you would wish to find it!@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EARTH'S IMMORTALITIES: LOVE by ROBERT BROWNING ODE WRITTEN IN [THE BEGINNING OF THE YEAR] 1746 by WILLIAM COLLINS (1721-1759) A LOVE SONG by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR AFTER A JOURNEY by THOMAS HARDY THE SOWER AND HIS SEED by WILLIAM EDWARD HARTPOLE LECKY A MORNING HYMN by CHARLES WESLEY |