(Written in a Warehouse)
With melancholy rows of wooden cases
Piled high around me, I have worked today;
And smelled the mustiness of old, damp sacks;
Saw stale meat strung up on rails; the grey
Drabness of crumbling walls; rusty iron doors; and stacks
Of tins made dull by darkness:
Strangely evil faces
Leered as shadows stirred in corners; dusty cobwebs moved;
The sticky, crawling flies found filthy places
I shivered; longed for rooms I loved;
Fought hard to like monotony and duty,
Darkness and dirt; for one moment, I
Thought of you!
And drabness changed to beauty.
Other work by Namur King