Little people thrive in the dark, said the old man.
And so I told my cousin: “Turn the lights on.”
A stream of light washed us.
“There was no difference,” I told him.
We are still little people, living little lives.
And so I told him: “Put the lights off.”
“There was no difference."
Eagerly he obliged.
I closed my eyes. And so was he.

Darkness grows what the light cannot, added the old man.
I felt my hands lengthened and so my legs.
“Cousin, I’m growing, I’m growing,” I shouted,
Rousing my cousin to no avail for he’s on deep sleep.

The last thing I saw was the moonlight seeping in,
Revealing what I truly am, what the darkness cannot.