In dusk’s hush, ‘below silver sky,
A guy describes, welcome soul grasped high,
To dimensions of sign, place tales gleam,
In worlds of conversation, a desired dream.
He unlocked an old tome,
Its pages rumored, named him home,
With each discussion, a magic spell,
Into procedure, he fast fell.
A hurricane rotated, a commotion wild,
He skidded like a funny child,
Through pages suffused accompanying yarns untold,
Into a realm of sign and gold.
He erects himself in a thicket vast,
Where timbers were fictions from distant past,
With leaves of vellum, quills for buds,
And signs that surged like old floods.
The beasts skilled, accompanying voices sweet,
Shared fictions of the worlds they’d greet,
With amusement, chant, and genuine cheer,
They received him, took him near.
The scrivener arose, accompanying insight old,
In robes of sign, in lies bold,
He talked of lands two together near and far,
Of worlds further, the sunniest star.
Through Enchanted Forests, they’d roam,
With beasts fair, and beings known,
In discourse, tongues of old,
A tune hummed, a fiction untold.
The peaks red-pink, their peaks so high,
With runes written against the sky,
A usage of fable bold,
Inscribed on rocks, in sign and gold.
As moonshine diminished, he saw the hour,
To surpass this remarkable bower,
Yet in welcome soul, the worlds he’d seen,
Would endlessly shape place he’d been.
With fictions in courage, and dreams uncurled,
He went down back into the world,
An all-encompassing settler, he’d be,
For dispute had set welcome soul free.
For in the field of composed verse,
He creates a bond, an accepted curse,
An expression joint, a bridge unfurled,
In worlds inside conversation, he’d transformed the world.
