The Twentieth Hour

On eight o'clock each night precisely
No moment after the tower's eighth ring;
Has always the girl walked down the parkway
With that silver baby carriage.
Each and ev'ry of my neighbors realized,
How not? The silver glow and squeaky wheels
Tore the silence we were known for.
But Men and Women of Kingstreet parkway now
Anticipate the squeaking sound after
The eight ringing tower-bell.

Yet one day the squeak we've come to expect
Did not come as scheduled; stopped complete.
We watched through our windows
Observed our surroundings but
Found no trace of the lady with the
Squeaking silver carriage.

I do wonder, why that silver shade
Has stopped appearing? Wonder why
That ghost has gone abruptly; why?
A puzzling conundrum. For I am sure that
She hasn't found her body hidden behind
My chamber-closet's door.

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