Idyll boy, brisk stride to glide
the cool pear orchards’ nettle grove;
provide the beat for Charles’s urgent feet.
He will one day
throw this light
to where a man, all clanking teeth and crashing irons,
grips young Pirrip
by the lozenge tombs of holy siblings;
boyish bundle caught between
the icy felon’s quaking grip and
cruel Malaria’s last grab.
He’ll have them hasten to
the cockle shells and silent bells
of priestly lighthouse, overseeing dark-scar Thames
which rushes seaward on the savage wind;
meek creeks with hidden teeth
that bite the less decisive roamer.
anxious boy alike
evacuate from stronghold marsh’s cooling spot
like lapwings’ brisk hawk side-step.
Ride a blossom-scented ribbon
over fuzzy plain to view
the world or words of fretful orphan
and his swift idylic friend.