At speed amidst the rosy-fingered dawn,

With a fluttering of his mighty wings,

Burnished with gold, in quick response he came,

Flying from the high eyries of the North.

Splendorous with the coming of the sun,

He alighted within the Court and set

The leaves of countless summers past astir.

In olden times the silver seed had grown,

Counting the ages by the bands of years.

Now later than that time by many moons,

It gifted yet the passing seasons new

With mounting drifts of leaves which did not die.

We met beside the lily-covered pool,­

A welling of the river far below,

Which flowed from mountains sheer unto the sea,

Reflecting sunlight as it wound its way

Through fens and marshes far and valleys green,

In expectation of apotheosis.

The high walled, stone-wrought Court, did not permit

The Son to send His rays within its bounds,

Our images upon the water’s face

Were dark and stars still flickered in our hair.

© Ian David Wall 1988