THE long small room that showed willows in the west <br />Narrowed up to the end the fireplace filled, <br />Although not wide. I liked it. No one guessed <br />What need or accident made them so build. <br /> <br />Only the moon, the mouse, and the sparrow peeped <br />In from the ivy round the casement thick. <br />Of all they saw and heard there they shall keep <br />The tale for the old ivy and older brick. <br /> <br />When I look back I am like moon, sparrow, and mouse <br />That witnessed what they could never understand <br />Or alter or prevent in the dark house. <br />One thing remains the same--this is my right hand <br /> <br />Crawling crab-like over the clean white page, <br />Resting awhile each morning on the pillow, <br />Then once more starting to crawl on towards age. <br />The hundred last leaves stream upon the willow.<br /><br />Edward Thomas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-long-small-room/
