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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The knob turned And opened the door The door of the apartment On the first floor And the sudden gasp Of air that the fireplace exhaled Knocked an ember To the floor An ember that had been glowing In the hearth The room, a peaceful space Warm but gloomy As it slowly cooled down The mercury downcast And receding fast “Close the door”! The inspector barked Without looking ‘round And with the click-thunk sound His from followed the mercury As it slowly pummelled From his forehead “Very curious”, said the man In the coat “Within a locked room, This man may have been smote” No open windows No unlocked door As the ember absently Scorched the floor Examining the body The inspector soon found A pocket of stones And a pocket of ground And as he thought He absentmindedly made A muttering sound The rain pelted The ground Into submission As rivulets of tears Ran down panes To coagulate into streams To flow past The old cemetery At the end of Murray street Where many a corpse Wrapped in a sheet Waited silently For the trump But there is more a decomposition Than a composition around It was there Where Those smooth stones Were found - The same place as the ground The inspector knew ‘tis there that the man had gone To a place of death With which he was now one To place of rest Is it possible? Rest? To where his love lay deep Under the shadows of grazing sheep To sleep, to sleep But not a dream His death was his last Longing scream The rocks and the ground Was his last request To lay with his love To lay down and rest
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