26 May 2012
Tiny little houses all the same, Lined up together on roads with different names, Inside each one is a different inhabitant, Each with a different coloured cabinet,
One old lady, living on the end, Treasures hers like a dear old friend, Worn around the edges and covered in lace, With a secret panel in its base, For all her sweetheart's letters wrapped up safe, The man next door, however, he had a nasty chafe, He'd take it out on his cabinet, now beaten, And wish he was back in Sweden, All blackened and withdrawn, And scribbled on by a son named Shaun,
Three doors along, lived a pigeon pair and some rats, Both made nests from cabinet-stored mats, It made a nice cosy den to rear their kittens, The squabs buried in twigs and stolen ribbons,
The last house on the block, Upon the cabinets stop stood a wooden old clock, It chimed every hour, And around it shimmered a mysterious power, The young couple, unaware of this Spector, That watched over them as a ghostly protector.
Cabinets • Opuss № I