Thunder storms throughout the house

leaving empty threats upon each pillow.

Willow thin, the librarian stood atop the stair,

casting her name into the darkness

like some unsheathed syllabic talisman

brandished in the air.

Thunder raged, followed lightning

whipping ragged ropes into the ground

in lashing jagged, whittle thin irradiance,

dispensing wicked shadow clones

upon whitewash mortar canvasses.

The librarian took measure with a breath,

hung his head, denied respite,

sighed resigned and retired.

Let the shadows play, he said

and put away his bellows.