The constant blur of talkative grunts
Surrounds me indiscernible by ear.
I listen hard but cold are the hunts
On the trails that lead me here.
Vast and empty is the foggy chasm
Into which I now have stepped.
Staring into the space of ghostly illusion...
Instantly back into the room I'm snapped.
I had been staring at the cover of my book,
I realized I'd been asked a question.
I turned then with a curious look
To give the grunter my full attention.
I listened hard and hard I tried
To answer the unanswerable question,
But no matter how my thought I pried
The worded grunts could not find direction.
I wondered why she talked to me, this lady of the Mummers,
For I am a commoner, a secret of low rank.
But soon she returned to grunt with the grunters
And back into slumberless sleep I sank.
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