Thursday, February 04, 2016

When Children Raved

When children raved in warrior’s paint

and danced, like David, sans restraint

– when poets sailed from distant shores

– when lambs lay down to lions’ roars

– when old wounds healed and were no more

– when sinners turned at once to saints,

and hearts grew strong by growing faint

– in some miracle hour when the moon was mad,

hence insane men were growing sane –

I saw a sight sublime, a dream had:

A fairy queen danced forth cross a stormy plain

upon a single subtle drop of summer rain,

and stood before me with a curtsy and a smile.

Her form was beauty flawless: beauty without guile.

She stood there like a gift, defying explanation.

Her skin was lily like, and dyed with pink carnations.

Her eyes were colored oceans with depths for miles, and miles:

eyes soft kissed by gentle wind, misty, mysteriously mild.

With delight I gazed on she, like some astonished child;

with curiosity she answered, at first and for awhile:

as if I were a creature, new, and strange, and wild;

as if I were a riddle sent forth to beguile.

Midst curious conjecture, she made her decision:

at last, her face flushed red with recognition;

she tossed her hair in a manner kind and coy –

“If I am a girl,” she said with startled joy,

and held me like a vision,

“then you must be a boy.”

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