My favourite haunt is on the roof
And here I write my poetic proof

High above, staring at the sky
Despite the Sun the world isn't bright

The river gleams, but more in spite
Of the Sun failing to be spectral-bright

Yet where shadow falls, the river is night
Where Sun and Shadow compete and fight

A stalemate, from two opposing sides
That only changes with the tides

The riverbank is lush and green,
Though in the shadows lurk the Unseen

White clouds trespass on property that does belong
To Sun and Moon, to Right and Wrong

But which side is wrong? The Sun, so bright?
The Moon, reflecting the Sun's own light?

You can doubt I wrote this on a roof,
Yet here does lay my poetic proof