the weaving II

Sweet child, I would give you all that I can...

I can’t offer you much that is tangible, but a castle
I would build from these words, if I may. The turrets

might not look like much from the outside, but inside
you’ll see how the windows are stained glass, streaked
with colour and shifting with age in the way

only glass can. One day, perhaps I will tell you
the tale of how they were made and annealed
at the mystical fires of the underworld. The halls

are stone hewn from the high mountains, and I may
tell you I shaped them myself with my bare hands,
or perhaps they were carved with the expert touch

of the short, burly, gruff earth-dwelling folk,
the sort you will only ever find in stories. You can see
them now, and hear their slow banter as they work

but as you grow into an older,
more practical sort, the memory will fade
into legend. But for now, sweet child,

in this castle may you find true rest, and dreams
that are pure and simple.


Rachel Westfall
December 1, 2008

the weaving