In shadowed depths, where moon doth fail,
There lurks a silent, stealthy eel.
No courtly bard could weave the tale
Of how it shuns the morn’s reveal.

Yet, lo! This eel, with gaze so keen,
Observes the mirth of comrades' play.
Through flickering screens their jest is seen,
While it, unseen, doth drift away.

"Fair eel," they cry, "why join'st thou not?"
Yet answers none the phantom eel.
For shadows are its chosen lot,
Its presence felt, but ne'er made real.

So in the dark it keeps its post,
An unseen watcher, gaming’s ghost.