See the old man creep around
slowly through his empty house.
His slippers hardly make a sound,
he's quiet as a mouse.

He shuffles 'round from wall to wall
peering at pictures hanging there.
'Ere night is through he'll look at all
each one checked with anxious stare.

Next to come, all closets opened
clothes and contents, all, he'll search
resulting in puzzlement deepened.
By now his tired old legs lurch.

But he must check all the drawers,
not one holds what he is seeking.
Nor do any cabinet doors.
The whole house bears his anxious peeking.

At last at dawn he lies in bed
where troubled sleep claims him at last
dreams of searching fill his head.
Awake, asleep, he seeks his past.