Moonlight, glittering and cold, dull and pale,
Filters through the bare rafters of my roof,
As nimble fingersmiths dance across the shale.
My friend of old, a cruel man, mean and aloof
Glares at me over his book, a heavy tome,
He’s a fussy man, boring and old
His book, crafted of leather, reeking of loam.
He speaks loudly, calling me a scold.