Rizpah, a study in grief and insanity (tennyson)

https://www.bartleby.com/42/647.html
Cut and pace this link for the haunting poem.

I have bested all of them
Lawyers, judges, hangmen high.
And I grabbed my dear Son’s
Waning corpse, I did, and hid.
For a lesser theft they
Sought him, caught him.
Chained him in night’s cold.
Nothing noble, bold
In all of their attempt.
Now I’m visited by some Lady.
Social Services, well just maybe.
And she listens as
I blubber, grieve and vent.
She listens?
One eye fixed on
The door of exit.
Clock ticking out this heartless visit.