The Parlour Bare


Twisted wax drips slowly down

The candle in the parlour bare

He sits alone in the corner dark

Gazing with a steely stare

A photo in the parlour bare,

The focus of his copper eyes

A portrait of a better time

With long, thin digits he slowly ties.

The landlord found to his surprise,

A body in the parlour bare.

Swaying in the winter wind

No longer lonely, without a care.