On mending a shutter

The fire sends shadows up and down the wall, we cannot see the plaster crack at all; who thinks that Time is always cruel should see the moonlight laying silver parquetry in every corner it can find the way. We are quite plain and common folk by day but in the evening princesses and kings might envy our old shutter as it swings with every whim of wind out of the gloom a windowful of stars into the room. The talk turns to new nails and the sad look the shutter wears by day, its rusted hooks, but no one makes a promise and none doubts this rarer gift ... stars running in and out.