Nights, Terrible nights,
The realm of ghosts and ghouls
And of prowlers outcast
As many of the lores go

In a place no where, 
far from the lights,
On one such empty void night,
Me and a night lamp,
I recollect were sitting by a beam supporting the roof overhead
among a hamlet by the woods

No doubt the night was dark,
Yet the air, cool and refreshing
The security of the night was reassuring
The wisdom of silence was palpable

The world around seem to have fallen asleep
Sorrows around seem to have been paused for the night
Progress seem to have postponed for the morning

Book in hand I feel guilty
Amassing my riches while the world sleeps
Like that old man greedy

While the night lamp 
Burns its mid night oil
In the night serene
I seem to have found an unfair vantage