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Aaron Stark
#1
Aaron Stark

Withal a meagre man was Aaron stark,
Cursed and unkempt, shrewd, shrivelled, and morose.
A miser was he, with a miser’s nose,
And eyes like little dollars in the dark.

His thin, pinched mouth was nothing but a mar
And when he spoke there came like sullen blows
Through scattered fangs a few snarled words and close,
As if a cur were chary of its bark.

Glad for the murmur of his hard nenown,
Year after year he shambled through the town,
A loveless exile moving with a staff;

And oftentimes there crept into his ears
A sound of alien pity, touched with tears,
And then (and only then) did Aaron laugh.
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