Through glitt'ring folds and amber hues
Dawn's caress holds back thunder's fuse
Time, that mistress, overbearing
Comes calling, nagging, ever-harrying

Soon these toys must be let to rust
Childhood ploys of innocent trust
Future dreams, raw, unspooling,
Directionless, lost, more schooling ever fooling


Drat. Samhain tapped the back of his pencil against his notebook, rereading the last few lines. The rhymes always disrupted the flow, forcing triteness over message. His poet's soul could never just pour free and fresh. How did the greats manage to capture such timeless purity? Had all of the meaningful messages been written already? He'd be damned before he'd stoop to 'slam' poetry. A bunch of self-congratulating rants, so far as he was concerned. Where was the elevation in that? Where was the philosophical melody that could survive the ages and critics alike?

Where was the future in being a poet?

Samhain sighed heavily and slumped back against the wall, letting his legs unfold and his orange-socked feet dangle off the edge of the bed. He really was getting too big for his Freshling bed. Time had come nagging, whether he was ready or not.

Of course, Merulius, his papa, supported any choice he'd make. But it was that proud, blind faith of parents who think their child is the best child.

And Fredrich's aspirations were purely pecuniary. A joke shop? There did seem to be some manner of money in it, but Samhain was torn between wanting to snoot at such worldly trappings and guilty relief that his bosom friend's goals would not necessarily leave him destitute. At least, he reasoned, Fredrich was passionate about his jests.

But poetry was not a career choice that Samhain could pursue. To make poetry a profession was to sully the purity of his wordsmithery. No, he needed work. Work that was dissociated from his scribblings. Perhaps he ought to take a hint from Fredrich's angle: what was he passionate about that would lead to a career?

Cadavers. Ghosts. Observation.

Perhaps he could approach Mister Caliper about an internship in the lab. Yes, working with lab samples and making notes...dissections. Perhaps even assisting Miss Stella with investigations into supernatural cases...

The more he thought about it, the more inspired he grew. Yes, it might just be viable! Samhain scurried off the bed and fished about for his boots. He'd track Fredrich down and run the idea past him. The dark Freshling stuffed his notebook with pencil-still-inside into his satchel and padded out into the main room of the cave.

"Papa! I'm going to see Fredrich!" he called, unsure of if Merulius was at home or not. Barely waiting for an answer, he shrugged his satchel across his chest and headed out into perfectly gloomy evening light.