Some folk once sat around a table, To share a meal and sing and fable. ‘Twas sturdy but would shake and rumble When they did pause and stealthily mumble, For it was afraid of losing its guardians, Just as the fire feared of losing its radiance. The parting flame wildly wobbled a bit, When one man exclaimed in a wilder fit, We have lost our hearth, tell tales sans heart, Some gifted a gaze, others granted a glance. He then closed his eyes and fell to his chair, Tables shook and men still mumbled – But he could not yield nor could he care, Far away he saw another fire, slightly warmer. It had its own audience, just slightly quieter. He listened to their tales, unchained but entwined, In the lulling melody of crackling timbre behind. Tales of men and women, of gods and of beasts, Their wants and wisdom, conquests and defeats. Half a man, and half a bull, an old man exclaimed, In one hand his rosary, with the other he aimed, First at the heavens and then at the dun