Let door will be ajar The world is going to pass this way By the thousands of his odds and ends What stood on the centre
What stood aside Faded traced of theirs Existence of the chattles The table talk is over Squeaky voices, all days long
Image and sounds went away Out of the wooden world Light scampered away in the darkness I had dwelt at the house
For so many years And never observed his death I get used to her sleep presence In the bedroom
Nobody keeps the vanishing world I saw him crossing house threshold He looked at himself in a mirror And became the awaited past To himself, He so wished.
