The strange and enchanting oddities we saw through the windows of the house at the end of Knickerbocker Street (Limerick VIII-XII)
. . .
VIII
A ghostly, arthritic Marquis,
was locked in the attic, so she
played the piano,
with hands limp and callow,
but still never found the right key.
. . .
IX
There’s a “man” who lives in the nook
(he has a translucent look).
We approached, walking slow,
and whispered hello,
but he never looked up from his book.
. . .
X
Said a ghost to the cook, “It’s a crime
that you simply don’t think I’m sublime.
I’ll love you forever;
in every endeavor,
I’d offer you flours and thyme.”
. . .
XI
“I can’t go to sleep,” said Grace Sue,
whose bedtime was long overdue.
“Something’s under my bed—
it’ll bite off my head!”
Said a voice from the dark: “That’s not true.”
. . .
XII
An inclement mite felt no penchant
for the house and its terrible tenants.
He chewed at the beams,
devoured the seams,
and toppled the rafters to wreckage.