The Gloams are drifters of the night
Born of Luna’s borrowed light
Lurching, lonely, halfseen waifs
Solemn ghosts of solid shapes

The saddest shadows of the caste
Nocturnal sloths who vanish fast
When absent mother sun appears
Their faces shine with silver tears

As they are banished from her gaze
Starved of her touch, denied her rays
No wonder then, that Gloams are glum
At best, subdued, sombre or numb

They only long to walk the day
To come out with the sun and play
To live among their cheerful kin
To skip and jig, giggle and grin

Alas, the Gloams are doomed to roam
The nearblack nights, their gloomy home
Transparent wafters on the breeze
Phantoms of lampposts, spectres of trees