Who Knocks?

2015 edition

When the light of the streetlamps was low;

When the light of the moon lost its glow;

Then I sat in my parlor to ponder

What this life we lived was for.

The fire was burning low in my hearth;

I began to ponder about my death.

Was there really a life after or not?

But I thought that I would never know.

Suddenly there was a knocking at my door.

A faint knock as by a woman’s or a child’s hands;

Still, I feign could understand

Why someone would call on me at this hour.

But I stood up to see,

Wondering still who could call on me;

And I reached and turned the knob.

Standing in the door was a maid,

With long raven hair, who said,

“Many years ago, when the fields and I both flowered,

You knew me; and I loved you.”

So I stood and wondered, and I tried to recall;

Although something in me told me it was true.

Slowly, faintly, I heard a name:

It was Frieda Reidenauer.

Then, I realized that she was dead;

For, she had passed away, in late fall

About two years ago.

As I stood remembering then,

My clock struck the hour again,

And Frieda was gone, to return no more.