Why the moon travels and other traveller's tales

Mu had a 5 p.m deadline  on an assignment to do with the rhyming scheme of a poem called Memory by a Suzanne J Doyle.  The poem was a rather beautiful one which risked being spoilt by the nature of the assignment and the encroaching deadline. 

Damp from the rain, we sat in a rather bleak Subway working on scansion and iambic pentameters until our brains buzzed.  Mu had to go back to her shop shift so we shifted ourselves to Canal Court where we settled down in more salubrious surroundings and got stuck back into Memory and its trochaic feet and pressed send at 4.59 p.m

Back home, in the evening fire light, Mu announced she was going to be a seanchai, pulled a small chair up to the fire and read us Oein DeBhairduin's travellers stories.  The 'rust of dusk' hung over the hills, the assignment had been put to bed, a chicken pie was in the oven and all was well  with the world.