Thief!

"The chill is in the nightly air", he mused
though t'was his heart that was cold,
As he set out on a forlorn path unused
towards that cursed house so old.

Two and forty years of age was he,
a good thirty more were they;
His masters were the village couple;
he was their servant by day.

Now upon his agile toes he slunk,
for the lighted window he made;
There by the lamp sat she
polishing the golden idol of its fade.

Smitten by greed was he at this
blinded by malign was he;
The thief in him leaped in joy
Now a murderer he was to be!

He raised the shaft and drew the knife
forward still he crept,
But alas! he missed his hold on it,
when onto the window sill he leapt!

Maybe it was the noise, or god above
that woke up the old man in the hall.
He snatched up his bow at once,
and thus at the traitor he shot, knife and all!

With a noiseless scream of pain he fell,
down to the realm of remorse he flew
Into dark, fading shades of hell;
as the world around him withdrew.