The strange and enchanting oddities we saw through the windows of the house at the end of Knickerbocker Street (Limerick VIII-XII)

. . .

VIII

A ghostly, arthritic Marquis,

was locked in the attic, so she

played the piano,

with hands limp and callow,

but still never found the right key.

. . .

IX

There’s a “man” who lives in the nook

(he has a translucent look).

We approached, walking slow,

and whispered hello,

but he never looked up from his book.

. . .

X

Said a ghost to the cook, “It’s a crime

that you simply don’t think I’m sublime.

I’ll love you forever;

in every endeavor,

I’d offer you flours and thyme.”

. . .

XI

“I can’t go to sleep,” said Grace Sue,

whose bedtime was long overdue.

“Something’s under my bed—

it’ll bite off my head!”

Said a voice from the dark: “That’s not true.”

. . .

XII

An inclement mite felt no penchant

for the house and its terrible tenants.

He chewed at the beams,

devoured the seams,

and toppled the rafters to wreckage.