Arthur, provoked like this, suddenly felt a rush of fervor.
While he might not be a poet, that doesn't mean he lacks material, especially after attending discussions at the "British" club so many times. He happened to have a poem, reviewed by Tennyson, that was barely presentable.
Arthur slowly stood up holding his wine glass, his voice not loud, yet carrying the kind of authority often found in a Scotland Yard interrogation room.
"He came silently, and left without a trace,
Leaving behind rumors and a room full of dust.
He doesn't lie, yet never truthful,
Loves to speak amidst laughter, merely a passerby.
He fears the sunlight revealing his face,
Yet loves to make an entrance by flickering candlelight.
If someone asks where he's from,
He'll sigh: I taught King Solomon.
He doesn't get drunk on wine, but on words,
Needs no place, yet always holds the center.
If tonight he sneaks in with the wind,
Let him know: The time is perfect, no bother."
