Closed door, chains and lock; partners in crime
For the late, odd and misshapen rhyme
In a room of past with misplaced chime
Of secrets and shame with all their grime
Never getting help, nor cleaning in time
The room is one of decay and of winter rime
But as is, it is my ancient place of prime
My old and never wearing stage of mime
While I am revering the remnants of the time
I spent playing with toys and my chime
Before she thaught me the adults' pastime
And I could run away and leave it to time
To cover it with dust and web and slime
Now I am standing under the pelting lime
In the abandoned room, in the winter clime
Crying and wishing to get back all that time