The long small room that showed willows in the west
Narrowed up to the end the fireplace filled
Although not wide. I liked it. No one guessed
What need or accident made them so build
Only the moon, the mouse, and the sparrow peeped
In from the ivy round the casement thick
Of all they saw and heard there they shall keep
The tale for the old ivy and older brick
When I look back I am like moon, sparrow, and mouse
That witnessed what they could never understand
Or alter or prevent in the dark house
One thing remains the same - this is my right hand
Crawling crab-like over the clean white page
Resting awhile each morning on the pillow
Then one more starting to crawl on towards age
The hundred last leaves stream upon the willow