A Layover for the Imaginative Soul, Such That Could Not Be Otherwise Had

A miser in his full array did dances 'round a table;
A drunkard toasting to the fray surrendered to the fable.
A lot more hapless never were beneath the starry twilight,
And these so bad were wont to be the two thereof most stable.
I took a sip of gin and coke to wish away the midnight;
I closed my eyes and opened them and thus had passed a fortnight.
A trebuchet upon the east launched forth a new armada.
Full sped there charged a gleaming host of clippers decked in Prada.
They sailed and sailed in pained retreat, as if they fled a slaver.
The demon close upon their heels invoked a new Bravada,
And this him carried swiftly fore to claim the vain escapers.
Unto the west they disappeared. The ground was lit with papers,
And one of these I took to view, for scrawlings did it bear.
The creatures scribbled on the page had feet and teeth and hair
In such degrees that only monsters surely could they be.
A figure danced across the page, but not long were I fit to stare,
For all at once, a booming voice broke through the silent sea.
It barked its orders in a tone that strict commanded me
To stand at once and move myself, my universe and all.
I took my things and disappeared into the shadow-hall.