Laughing Lhursday*

Across the street from Seanhenge, a Christmas elf named Wolfram moved in at the beginning of December.

He has not yet been seen,
but he writes regularly, and often traces
of his highly varied nocturnal activities
are unmistakable.

The other day he was told in a letter
that the writer's grandfather
had cooked him a portion of rice, and ...

. . . that she, the letter writer,
hoped Wolfram would relish it.

And yes, it did taste, Wolfram wrote,
but asked for indulgence that unfortunately
he did not quite manage
to entirely eat the huge portion.

 * [For first time visitors]: Typo in the title? Nah. It's just that
I would not let a tiny T spoil an avantgardistic alliteration.