Low windows; brown shade; over in one corner

A Danzig clock, silent; the sofa is leather;

Above it, two devils smirking from a sculpture

And the belly of a pan in beaming copper.

On the wall, a painting of wintertime:

People skating in groups; between the treetops,

A chimney sending smoke up in a plume;

Crows flying up above the gray horizon.

Nearby, another clock. The little bird hunched inside

Waits, bursts out squeaking, shrieks its little call

Three times; almost before its third, last cry can fade,

Mother dips the ladle to the steaming bowl.