The orchid has dropped its blossoms.
The toothbrush is in the bin.
The clothes and photographs
in a box at the back of the wardrobe.
The bath has been scoured,
the carpet vacuumed.
The sheets have been washed,
the mattress turned.
All of the windows are open.
All of the doors.
A chill Southerly blows in;
the palace is deserted.