Monday, 18 April 2011

a Narnian moon

Sometimes when the moon shines through our open window
And the wind blows across the fields
Playing the dry stalks of last fall like so many wooden flutes
We hear Susan’s horn in the distance
And smell the salt spray against Cair Paravel
Then turning to you I catch Magnificence in your eyes
And the squeeze of your hand stirs a gentle valiance within
For a brief moment our hearts beat with the blood of a far off country
And our eyes turn with longing to the closet door


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