The Cottage, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Peeking in a grimy window the sun
Wonders what kind of person lies within,
A room that looks as if its day is done,
Ev’n before its tenant is to begin.

The reptile like old man sorts out the hay,
Upon his head and wonders what face will
I be forced to wear? None I dare to say!
Friday! In my chair I sit ever still.

Blue dress and cap rotund lady with head
In cupboard checks each of its few items,
And says, you’re all set, more than enough bread,
On Sunday remember to sing some hymns.

He sat there hearing only his heart beat,
Pulses later all was still in the seat.