What must one say,

What must one do,

“Certainly not,” says One

“Then go and do,” replies Two.

“No Idea,” a Third says.

“I do what I wish,” adds a Fourth

“Who commands Me to move?” demands a Fifth.

“Would they dare to?” wonders a Sixth.

“Cease the counting,” warns a Seventh.

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“It is a joke,” adds an Eighth.

“You’re continuing it,” shouts a Ninth.

“Well I’m ending it,” growls the Tenth.

“Not quite yet,” adds the Eleventh.

“Not whilst the Night has only just begun,” whispers the Twelfth.

“For I stride the skies as dread Thirteen,” speaks a Maiden with eyes of field stars.

“And till Fell Fourteen comes this Hour is my Song.”