You'd Not Even Guess I Was Here

Many nights
I have lounged atop a steep shelf
Overhanging some remote plateau
While the wind is scurrying about me
Like a matron dame
Wielding her broom
To sweep unwelcome'd snow
From blackened ice
Ice what insulates my soles
From sharper teeth below it
There is some urgency within me
What causes me to seek out man's camp
And i park myself
To eavesdrop on its industry
Squatting with me shoulders
Squared off to the night
And my blocky cheeks illuminated
By the welcoming glow of his fire

I hunker down with a satisfying grunt
For to abide a spell and reflect
I harbor no malice in my heart
For them who slumber there
In their cocoon sacks
Them who only stir
To toss another branch on the fire
When the flames have weakened
And each time the flames rejoice
I feel a warmth clear thru
To the soles of my feet
And i smile
As if they d done this just for me

I stay my position o'erlooking his camp
Until it is the bottom of the night
When the day is at its darkest ember
In that cold hour leading into dawn
When the fire's flames have retreated
As have the campers into their beds
Doleful of the mornings chill

Better that they be apprehensive of me
For this is when I would move in
On swift and practiced podiatrees
I secure a sleeping bag by its nape
And shaking the contents down
Into the bottom of the bedroll
I throw i across my shoulder
[Without ceremony] and head for home
Only pausing from time to time
To quell an uprising
By banging my club roughly
Against a grub sack

[Thwack] !

~ I am TROLL [ever yours, sans propriety]