Classic Poem

After working all day at the tan-pits,
With strong hands tanned horny and hard
And stained with the bark brown as leather,
He would come every day from the yard;

And I, from my work at the laundry,
With hands soused in suds clean and white
And soft to the touch as old linen,
Would meet him half-way every night:

Would meet him half-way every evening,
Though always I shuddered to feel
Those hard fingers gripping my fingers
And crushing my soft hands like steel.

But now I'm forgot and forsaken;
And eagerly waiting he stands
For a girl coming home from the gardens
With weathered and grubby red hands.

As unseen in the dark of a doorway
I watch him alone and apart,
My cold fingers fumble my bosom
To loosen his clutch from my heart.