Or rather plumping down upon a chair,
She took her work, the stocking she was knitting,
And watched the rain upon the window glare
In white, bright drops. Through the black glass a flare
Of lightning squirmed about her needles. Oh!
She cried. What can be keeping Theodore so!
A roll of thunder set the casements clapping.
Frau Altgelt flung her work aside and ran,
Pulled open the house door, with kerchief flapping
She stood and gazed along the street. A man
Flung back the garden-gate and nearly ran
Her down as she stood in the door. Why, Dear,
What in the name of patience brings you here?
Quick, Lotta, shut the door, my violin
I fear is wetted. Now, Dear, bring a light.
This clasp is very much too worn and thin.
Ill take the other fiddle out to-night
If it still rains. Tut! Tut! my child, youre quite
Clumsy. Here, help me, hold the case while I --
Give me the candle. No, the insides dry.
Thank God for that! Well, Lotta, how
are you?
A bad storm, but the house still stands, I see.
Is my pipe filled, my Dear? Ill have a few
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2016-03-17
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