The charwoman laid down her mop. The office clock waited With hands abated. Strange, she should stop, Resurgently drop The slippery soap. Why should she kneel Vised like steel? Her smile was silly And set. The stilly Silence was unbroken, No word was spoken; Yet, strange rustling proved Soft shadows moved -- Listened to catch An opened latch. Tensely there surged Pity for her Whose life had hedged A twisted banister. And He who passed the scrubbed marble stair Left no footprint there. |