MORNING AT THE WINDOW
by: T.S. Eliot (1888-1965)
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HEY are rattling breakfast plates in basement kitchens,
- And along the trampled edges of the street
- I am aware of the damp souls of housemaids
- Sprouting despondently at area gates.
- The brown waves of fog toss up to me
- Twisted faces from the bottom of the street,
- And tear from a passer-by with muddy skirts
- An aimless smile that hovers in the air
- And vanishes along the level of the roofs.