Wizard of the Little Hills
He walked tall with stalk legs
Asif treading on broken glass.
Across the moors in the grey hue of night,
Lost in his thoughts he would pass.
He carried a whalebone umbrella aloft,
Even in the best of weather.
His cottage was lined with dried herbs, thick
Dusty volumes clasped with brass,
And made from brown leather.
Even in his 80's
He still had long, raven black hair.
God forbid you looked him in the eye
For they were alarmingly dark,
Asif there were frightening knowledge there.