Left Eating Shadows

Left left eating shadows, laughing most hollow dark of the dungeon the colourless void alone in the dark without earthly light the darkness is fell an adequate feast food for the lonely a pitcher of void a whirlwind to reap — repast of the air — filled by the empty hungered in darkness

Right and sipping the night, he tastes lack of light a good snack to chew; it's "champion stew" yet flavours of joy he still will enjoy; yet starlight still shines upon which he dines in dinner for one: his cup's overrun he'll spoon up with zeal so scrumptious a meal the banquet complete this soul lies replete