The sky is bleak tonight, Fitzwalter.
I see the morbid crows have cut the clouds.
It's cold, up here amidst the stonework,
with the slotted windows for the watching.
Be careful with your pipe!
though it gives you cheer it may draw the witch!
Sometimes, on the night watch,
some chattering, smattering rhyme
would dizzy dazzle my tired head.
I know it was her, come to draw me out;
to make me dance beneath her moon.
But I held out, did I. .. I did!
I sung my own songs.
Or maybe she sung mine, God help me!
No, don't light the lamp.
Watch for the moor lights
out in the field.
No! I mean,.. instead, watch for their flicker!
For in their flicker, you know well
some creature passes by.
I bid goodnight, Fitzwalter.
I beg just two short hours
and I will up and take your place.
Until then, do not cease to pray!