Not these my hands
And yet I think there was
A woman like me once had hands
This poem is in the public domain.
Guardian of the Treasure of Solomon
And Keeper of the Prophet’s Armour
A vapour that
The wind dispels and but
As dust before the wind am I
Every day, Every day, Tell the hours By their shadows, By their shadows.
With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break from the trees