In a quiet room, in a quiet house abides a hopeless hope chest,
where a quiet lady, still quietly resides, a lady that needed rest.
Alas, the quiescent irony, the inactive lock would not release,
She could not wake her latent company, so found no rest, no peace.
If only in the cumbrous dark, in the cold, the lock she could mend
if only she would be so bold, the rusty hinges she might bend.
To find quiet, restful, repose, a quilt to cover her in her bed.
In the slumbrous house, untroubled by guilt, the lady froze dead.
In the quiet, in the still, I still hear her whisper, her soundless cry,
She left her quilts to us, in her will, but why, oh why did I deny,
To tell her before she set off to bed, the quilt was in the bureau drawer
If she was not still dead, I would complain to hear her static snore.
This is part of a TABLE OF CONTENTS restraint poem- In this constraint, I have taken a Poetry Anthology originally published in 1925. Each section contains 20-40 titles. My Constraint was to use as many words as possible in the table of contents to construct a new Poem.
WoPoLi 
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