What durst thou learn of I?
Apart from givin' scathy, scornful eyes
Upon my working on the floor
That lay in dirt and muck.
I hath eyed thy double chin
As thee threw thy jewels by
Of which I so yearned wear that me cries
Every dawn to bore
With the pang that I be bereft of luck
And wealth and thy handsome gin.
I scrub thy floor, thy shoe,
Thy everything which lay
And all thee shed is a penny.
A mere penny can stand none
For my living. What do I do?
I know the darkest lies within you
And would expel them for a pay
And let thy see my life and money
(Which thou owns by the ton)
Keep me nigh the quilt for a sleep or two.
Me loves to be loved and tendered
Care which seems to be few
In here- in your abode.
Stop thy curses! Thy kicks!
Hold thy swears upon your tongue.
I ain't livin' here for what yet thou rendered
Apart ignominy, shame and rue.
Ah! I skid along the road
For few minutes the clock now ticks
And squeezes into shreds me lungs.
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Comments about this poem (The Chambermaid by Devanshi Khetarpal )
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