Is his work sweet or bitter
Door to door goes meter reader
Is he dull or clever witty
The measurer of used electricity.

With a torch and thick bound book
Below staircase down dark nook
Scans through the dust on mesh
With a face that’s expressionless.

Speaks so little somber face
Smiles no little courtesy’s grace
Notes down with just one look
Prosaic digits on notebook.

Is he a man with a home family
Or a mad measurer lone carefree
A wild pursuer of endless digit
Never known love never had it.

Still he has to knock many door
Stay a minute not anymore
Time is his arch enemy
Till comes night sleep’s lullaby.