Within a green and everlasting covering
Like a coat of mail
There lives a little old lady
In an apartment of several rooms.
The walls are pink on one side,
Brown on the other;
She must be a rich old lady to have wall-coverings
Of changeable silk finer than spiders' webs!
Once she got lost.
I saw her shiny shriveled face
Look up at me
From the grass.
I heard her call and call me
In a faint and shivering voice
To come to her quickly,
Unlock the door for her,
Help her up the steps
Into the place she had always known
Since she began at all. . . .
