Filch'Er (Ii) Poem by David James

In town square's late moon, afore the crow could croon.
A filch'er darted hither and thither
between stalls and merchant hauls.
Such was the filchers way to prowl
his mark afore morrows light,
at one with darkness, his friend the night
hid him, out of sight.

The filchers mark was easy prey,
drunk and up for fight. the filch'er waited,
breath abated. The filch'er had timed it right
and took to flight. The marked sot had, had
his lot and picked a fight with the
invisible night. Stupor won the point-
less broil, only to find he had been blind.
The filch'er smirked as he left his mark
in a relentless search for his purse
with drunken curse and untold verse.

High upon slippery balcony
the filch'er did linger to admire
fair maiden; epitome
of hearts desire, scant in attire
and clad with lace, beauty's sweet grace.
'Twas not happen-stance that a guard had come
to glance. As he spat and asked-

'art you a thief perchance? '

Ought nought untoward happening here
the filch'er thought. 'Twas but the filchers
weakness for love; this he could not deny.
Red handed he had been caught
for the maidens fake hearts ache
for him had been bought...
and nay a harsher sad, sad lesson
for the filch'er had been taught.

Oh the irony, that such tragedy
would befall a man of his sorry sort.
Upon candle lit trestles that nestle
where shadows count for nought.
A guard beady eyed had sought
the filch'er; whom he had fought
soon after idle taunt.
The filch'er knew his job was through,
when his luck was all but due.
For If 'twas not for the e'er watchful
guard he almost slew!

'Thief! ' They cried, 'Hark! '
His identity made true.
Fleet of foot the filch'er flew;
don't look back he thought,
start anew.