Sonnet four

For my mind is filled with remembrance for:
four and twenty blackbirds baked and pie’d;
Pied Piper piping, gathering his corps;
The lore of a miss ‘for a spider spied,
Spied, in the throws of the sun; tumblin,
tumblin Icarus — the very one;
One boy, one dame, one lord, one black sheep kin;
Kin and king cursed with golden fingers won;
One hero with Golden Fleece in open hand;
Hands waking our John-a-late-for-matins;
Matin-bells ringing, ringing through the land;
Land, shaped, formed by Blue Ox and Bunyan,
Bunyan’s mighty ax taming dirt and sky;
Sky, set to call, this storied list to my mind’s eye.

© rl busséll 2018 – All rights reserved

Photo by Sandy Millar on Unsplash

“Fairytales are more than true; not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten” — G.K. Chesterton

The stories of our childhood stay with us forever. They are our companions, our boon, and the boon we give to others; by them we are shaped. Tell stories to your children; write upon their souls.