display | more...

The Canterbury Tales: The Second Nun's Tale

Here bigynneth the Seconde Nonnes Tale of the lyf of Seinte Cecile

This mayden, bright Cecilie, as hir lyf seith, Was comen of Romayns, and of noble kynde, And from hir cradel up fostred in the feith Of Crist, and bar his gospel in hir mynde. She nevere cessed, as I writen fynde, Of hir preyere, and God to love and drede, Bisekynge hym to kepe hir maydenhede. And whan this mayden sholde unto a man Ywedded be, that was ful yong of age, Which that ycleped was Valerian, And day was comen of hir mariage, She, ful devout and humble in hir corage, Under hir robe of gold, that sat ful faire, Hadde next hir flessh yclad hir in an haire. And whil the organs maden melodie, To God allone in herte thus sang she: "O Lord, my soule and eek my body gye Unwemmed, lest that I confounded be." And, for his love that dyde upon a tree, Every seconde and thridde day she faste, Ay biddynge in hir orisons ful faste. The nyght cam, and to bedde moste she gon With hir housbonde, as ofte is the manere, And pryvely to hym she seyde anon, "O sweete and wel biloved spouse deere, Ther is a conseil, and ye wolde it heere, Which that right fayn I wolde unto yow seye, So that ye swere ye shul me nat biwreye." Valerian gan faste unto hire swere That for no cas, ne thyng that myghte be, He sholde nevere mo biwreyen here, And thanne at erst to hym thus seyde she, "I have an aungel which that loveth me, That with greet love, wher so I wake or sleepe, Is redy ay my body for to kepe. And if that he may feelen, out of drede That ye me touche, or love in vileynye, He right anon wol sle yow with the dede, And in youre yowthe thus ye sholden dye. And if that ye in clene love me gye, He wol yow loven as me for youre clennesse, And shewen yow his joye and his brightnesse." Valerian, corrected as God wolde, Answerde agayn, "If I shal trusten thee, Lat me that aungel se, and hym biholde, And if that it a verray aungel bee, Thanne wol I doon as thou hast prayed me; And if thou love another man, forsothe Right with this swerd thanne wol I sle yow bothe." Cecile answerde anon right in this wise, "If that yow list, the aungel shul ye see, So that ye trowe in Crist, and yow baptize. Gooth forth to Via Apia," quod she, "That fro this toun ne stant but miles thre; And to the povre folkes that ther dwelle Sey hem right thus as that I shal yow telle. Telle hem, that I Cecile yow to hem sente, To shewen yow the goode Urban the olde, For secree thynges and for good entente; And whan that ye Seint Urban han biholde, Telle hym the wordes whiche that I to yow tolde, And whan that he hath purged yow fro synne, Thanne shul ye se that aungel er ye twynne." Valerian is to the place ygon, And right as hym was taught by his lernynge, He foond this hooly olde Urban anon Among the seintes buryeles lotynge. And he anon, withouten tariynge, Dide his message, and whan that he it tolde, Urban for joye his handes gan up holde. The teeris from hise eyen leet he falle. "Almyghty lord, O Jesu Crist," quod he, "Sower of chaast conseil, hierde of us alle, The fruyt of thilke seed of chastitee That thou hast sowe in Cecile, taak to thee. Lo, lyk a bisy bee, withouten gile, Thee serveth ay thyn owene thral Cecile! For thilke spouse that she took but now Ful lyk a fiers leoun, she sendeth heere As meke as evere was any lomb, to yow." And with that word anon ther gan appeere An oold man clad in white clothes cleere, That hadde a book with lettre of gold in honde, And gan bifore Valerian to stonde. Valerian as deed fil doun for drede Whan he hym saugh, and he up hente hym tho, And on his book right thus he gan to rede, "O lord, o feith, o God, withouten mo, O Cristendom, and fader of alle also, Aboven alle, and over alle, everywhere." Thise wordes al with gold ywriten were. Whan this was rad, thanne seyde this olde man, "Leevestow this thyng or no? sey ye or nay?" "I leeve al this thyng," quod Valerian, "For sother thyng than this, I dar wel say, Under the hevene no wight thynke may." Tho vanysshed this olde man, he nyste where; And Pope Urban hym cristned right there. Valerian gooth hoom, and fynt Cecile Withinne his chambre with an aungel stonde. This aungel hadde of roses and of lilie Corones two, the whiche he bar in honde; And first to Cecile, as I understonde, He yaf that oon, and after gan he take That oother to Valerian hir make. "With body clene and with unwemmed thoght Kepeth ay wel thise corones," quod he, "Fro Paradys to yow have I hem broght, Ne nevere mo ne shal they roten bee, Ne lese hir soote savour, trusteth me, Ne nevere wight shal seen hem with his eye But he be chaast and hate vileynye. And thow Valerian, for thow so soone Assentedest to good conseil also, Sey what thee list, and thou shalt han thy boone." "I have a brother," quod Valerian tho, "That in this world I love no man so. I pray yow that my brother may han grace, To knowe the trouthe, as I do in this place." The aungel seyde, "God liketh thy requeste, And bothe with the palm of martirdom Ye shullen com unto his blisful feste." And with that word Tiburce his brother coom; And whan that he the savour undernoom, Which that the roses and the lilies caste, Withinne his herte he gan to wondre faste, And seyde, "I wondre, this tyme of the yeer, Whennes that soote savour cometh so Of rose and lilies that I smelle heer. For though I hadde hem in myne handes two, The savour myghte in me no depper go, The sweete smel that in myn herte I fynde Hath chaunged me al in another kynde." Valerian seyde, "Two corones han we, Snow white and rose reed that shynen cleere, Whiche that thyne eyen han no myght to see, And as thou smellest hem thurgh my preyere, So shaltow seen hem, leeve brother deere, If it so be thou wolt, withouten slouthe, Bileve aright and knowen verray trouthe." Tiburce answerde, "Seistow this to me? In soothnesse or in dreem I herkne this?" "In dremes," quod Valerian, "han we be Unto this tyme, brother myn, ywes; But now at erst in trouthe oure dwellyng is." "How woostow this," quod Tiburce, "in what wyse?" Quod Valerian, "That shal I thee devyse. The aungel of God hath me the trouthe ytaught Which thou shalt seen, if that thou wolt reneye The ydoles and be clene, and elles naught." And of the myracle of thise corones tweye Seint Ambrose in his preface list to seye. Solempnely this noble doctour deere Commendeth it, and seith in this manere: "The palm of martirdom for to receyve Seinte Cecile, fulfild of Goddes yifte, The world and eek hire chambre gan she weyve, Witnesse Tyburces and Valerians shrifte, To whiche God of his bountee wolde shifte Corones two, of floures wel smellynge, And made his aungel hem the corones brynge. The mayde hath broght thise men to blisse above; The world hath wist what it is worth, certeyn, Devocioun of chastitee to love." Tho shewed hym Cecile, al open and pleyn, That alle ydoles nys but a thyng in veyn, For they been dombe and therto they been deve, And charged hym hise ydoles for to leve. "Whoso that troweth, nat this, a beest he is," Quod tho Tiburce, "if that I shal nat lye." And she gan kisse his brest, that herde this, And was ful glad he koude trouthe espye. "This day I take thee for myn allye," Seyde this blisful faire mayde deere, And after that she seyde as ye may heere. "Lo, right so as the love of Crist," quod she, "Made me thy brotheres wyf, right in that wise Anon for myn allyee heer take I thee, Syn that thou wolt thyne ydoles despise. Go with thy brother now, and thee baptise, And make thee clene, so that thou mowe biholde The aungels face of which thy brother tolde." Tiburce answerde and seyde, "Brother deere, First tel me whider I shal, and to what man?" "To whom?" quod he, "com forth with right good cheere, I wol thee lede unto the Pope Urban." "Til Urban? Brother myn Valerian," Quod tho Tiburce, "woltow me thider lede? Me thynketh that it were a wonder dede." "Ne menestow nat Urban," quod he tho, "That is so ofte dampned to be deed, And woneth in halkes alwey to and fro, And dar nat ones putte forth his heed; Men sholde hym brennen in a fyr so reed, If he were founde, or that men myghte hym spye; And we also, to bere hym compaignye, And whil we seken thilke divinitee, That is yhid in hevene pryvely, Algate ybrend in this world shul we be!" To whom Cecile answerde boldely, "Men myghten dreden wel and skilfully This lyf to lese, myn owene deere brother, If this were lyvynge oonly and noon oother. But ther is bettre lyf in oother place, That nevere shal be lost, ne drede thee noght, Which Goddes Sone us tolde thurgh his grace. That fadres sone hath alle thyng ywroght, And al that wroght is with a skilful thoght, The goost, that fro the Fader gan procede, Hath sowled hem, withouten any drede. By word and by myracel Goddes Sone, Whan he was in this world, declared heere That ther was oother lyf ther men may wone." To whom answerde Tiburce, "O suster deere, Ne seydestow right now in this manere, Ther nys but o God, lord in soothfastnesse, And now of thre how maystow bere witnesse?" "That shal I telle," quod she, "er I go. Right as a man hath sapiences thre, Memorie, engyn, and intellect also, So, in o beynge of divinitee Thre persones may ther right wel bee." Tho gan she hym ful bisily to preche Of Cristes come, and of hise peynes teche, And many pointes of his passioun; How Goddes Sone in this world was withholde To doon mankynde pleyn remissioun, That was ybounde in synne and cares colde; Al this thyng she unto Tiburce tolde; And after this, Tiburce in good entente With Valerian to Pope Urban he wente; That thanked God, and with glad herte and light He cristned hym, and made hym in that place Parfit in his lernynge, Goddes knyght. And after this Tiburce gat swich grace That every day he saugh in tyme and space The aungel of God, and every maner boone That he God axed, it was sped ful soone. It were ful hard by ordre for to seyn How manye wondres Jesu for hem wroghte. But atte laste, to tellen short and pleyn, The sergeantz of the toun of Rome hem soghte, And hem biforn Almache the Prefect broghte, Which hem apposed, and knew al hire entente, And to the ymage of Juppiter hem sente, And seyde, "Whoso wol nat sacrifise, Swap of his heed, this my sentence heer." Anon thise martirs that I yow devyse, Oon Maximus, that was an officer Of the prefectes, and his corniculer, Hem hente, and whan he forth the seintes ladde, Hymself he weep, for pitee that he hadde. Whan Maximus had herd the seintes loore, He gat hym of the tormentoures leve, And ladde hem to his hous withoute moore. And with hir prechyng, er that it were eve, They gonnen fro the tormentours to reve, And fro Maxime, and fro his folk echone The fals feith, to trowe in God allone. Cecile cam whan it was woxen nyght, With preestes that hem cristned alle yfeere, And afterward, whan day was woxen light, Cecile hem seyde, with a ful stedefast cheere, "Now Cristes owene knyghtes, leeve and deere, Cast alle awey the werkes of derknesse And armeth yow in armure of brightnesse. Ye han for sothe ydoon a greet bataille, Youre cours is doon, youre feith han ye conserved, Gooth to the corone of lyf that may nat faille. The rightful juge which that ye han served Shal yeve it yow as ye han it deserved." And whan this thyng was seyd as I devyse, Men ledde hem forth to doon the sacrifise. But whan they weren to the place broght, To tellen shortly the conclusioun, They nolde encense ne sacrifise right noght, But on hir knees they setten hem adoun With humble herte and sad devocioun, And losten bothe hir hevedes in the place. Hir soules wenten to the kyng of grace. This Maximus that saugh this thyng bityde, With pitous teeris tolde it anon-right, That he hir soules saugh to hevene glyde With aungels ful of cleernesse and of light; And with this word converted many a wight; For which Almachius dide hym so bete With whippe of leed, til he the lyf gan lete. Cecile hym took, and buryed hym anon By Tiburce and Valerian softely, Withinne hir buriyng place, under the stoon, And after this Almachius hastily Bad his ministres fecchen openly Cecile, so that she myghte in his presence Doon sacrifice, and Juppiter encense. But they, converted at hir wise loore, Wepten ful soore, and yaven ful credence Unto hire word, and cryden moore and moore, "Crist, Goddes sone, withouten difference, Is verray God - this is al oure sentence - That hath so good a servant hym to serve. This with o voys we trowen, thogh we sterve." Almachius, that herde of this doynge, Bad fecchen Cecile, that he myghte hir see, And alderfirst, lo, this was his axynge: "What maner womman artow?" tho quod he. "I am a gentil womman born," quod she. "I axe thee," quod he, "though it thee greeve, Of thy religioun and of thy bileeve." "Ye han bigonne youre question folily," Quod she, "that wolden two answeres conclude In o demande; ye axed lewedly." Almache answerde unto that similitude, "Of whennes comth thyn answeryng so rude?' "Of whennes?" quod she, whan that she was freyned, "Of conscience and of good feith unfeyned." Almachius seyde, "Ne takestow noon heede Of my power?" And she answerde hym this: "Youre myght," quod she, "ful litel is to dreede, For every mortal mannes power nys But lyke a bladdre ful of wynd, ywys; For with a nedles poynt, whan it is blowe, May al the boost of it be leyd ful lowe." "Ful wrongfully bigonne thow," quod he, "And yet in wrong is thy perseveraunce; Wostow nat how oure myghty princes free Han thus comanded and maad ordinaunce That every cristen wight shal han penaunce, But if that he his cristendom withseye- And goon al quit, if he wole it reneye?" "Youre princes erren, as youre nobleye dooth," Quod tho Cecile, "and with a wood sentence Ye make us gilty, and it is nat sooth, For ye, that knowen wel oure innocence, For as muche as we doon a reverence To Crist, and for we bere a cristen name, Ye putte on us a cryme, and eek a blame. But we that knowen thilke name so For vertuous, we may it nat withseye." Almache answerde, "Chees oon of thise two, Do sacrifise, or cristendom reneye, That thou mowe now escapen by that weye." At which the hooly blisful faire mayde Gan for to laughe, and to the juge sayde, "O Juge, confus in thy nycetee, Woltow that I reneye innocence, To make me a wikked wight," quod shee; "Lo, he dissymuleth heere in audience, He stareth, and woodeth in his advertence." To whom Almachius, "Unsely wrecche, Ne woostow nat how far my myght may strecche? Han noght oure myghty princes to me yeven Ye, bothe power and auctoritee To maken folk to dyen or to lyven? Why spekestow so proudly thanne to me?" "I speke noght but stedfastly," quod she, "Nat proudly, for I speke as for my syde, We haten deedly thilke vice of pryde. And if thou drede nat a sooth to heere, Thanne wol I shewe al openly by right That thou hast maad a ful grete lesyng heere, Thou seyst, thy princes han thee yeven myght Bothe for to sleen, and for to quyken a wight. Thou that ne mayst but oonly lyf bireve, Thou hast noon oother power, ne no leve! But thou mayst seyn thy princes han thee maked Ministre of deeth, for if thou speke of mo, Thou lyest, for thy power is ful naked." "Do wey thy booldnesse," seyde Almachius tho, "And sacrifise to oure goddes er thou go. I recche nat what wrong that thou me profre, For I can suffre it as a philosophre. But thilke wronges may I nat endure That thou spekest of oure goddes heere," quod he. Cecile answerde, "O nyce creature, Thou seydest no word, syn thou spak to me, That I ne knew therwith thy nycetee, And that thou were in every maner wise A lewed officer and a veyn justise. Ther lakketh no thyng to thyne outter yen That thou nart blynd, for thyng that we seen alle That it is stoon - that men may wel espyen - That ilke stoon a god thow wolt it calle. I rede thee lat thyn hand upon it falle, And taste it wel, and stoon thou shalt it fynde, Syn that thou seest nat with thyne eyen blynde. It is a shame that the peple shal So scorne thee, and laughe at thy folye; For communly men woot it wel overal That myghty God is in hise hevenes hye, And thise ymages, wel thou mayst espye, To thee ne to hemself mowen noght profite, For in effect they been nat worth a myte." Thise wordes and swiche othere seyde she, And he weex wrooth, and bad men sholde hir lede Hom til hir hous, and "in hire hous," quod he, "Brenne hire right in a bath of flambes rede." And as he bad, right so was doon in dede, For in a bath they gonne hire faste shetten, And nyght and day greet fyre they underbetten. The longe nyght and eek a day also For al the fyr and eek the bathes heete She sat al coold, and feelede no wo; It made hire nat a drope for to sweete. But in that bath hir lyf she moste lete, For he Almachius, with a ful wikke entente, To sleen hir in the bath his sonde sente. Thre strokes in the nekke he smoot hir tho, The tormentour, but for no maner chaunce He myghte noght smyte al hir nekke atwo. And for ther was that tyme an ordinaunce That no man sholde doon men swich penaunce The ferthe strook to smyten, softe or soore, This tormentour ne dorste do namoore. But half deed, with hir nekke ycorven there, He lefte hir lye, and on his wey is went. The Cristen folk, which that aboute hir were, With sheetes han the blood ful faire yhent. Thre dayes lyved she in this torment, And nevere cessed hem the feith to teche; That she hadde fostred, hem she gan to preche. And hem she yaf hir moebles, and hir thyng, And to the Pope Urban bitook hem tho, And seyde, "I axed this at hevene kyng To han respit thre dayes, and namo, To recomende to yow er that I go Thise soules, lo, and that I myghte do werche Heere of myn hous perpetuelly a chirche." Seint Urban with hise deknes prively This body fette, and buryed it by nyghte, Among hise othere seintes, honestly. Hir hous the chirche of Seinte Cecilie highte; Seint Urban halwed it, as he wel myghte, In which, into this day, in noble wyse Men doon to Crist and to his seinte servyse.

Heere is ended the Seconde Nonnes Tale

The Second Nun's Prologue | The Canon's Yeoman's Prologue

He waits
Out there, in the night
Prowling about
I know his voice by now, out of the cacophony of this alien jungle
Something between a growl and a scream
So arrogant, so male
'Everyone listen! Here I am!' He is
Only an animal, a beast
For all they call him holy, the people here
Holy… well they are simple folk, after all
Needing guidance
Lost in primitive superstition.
The Bishop
Tried to dissuade me, imagine!
When I said that I would come
When I asked for the hardest task, the most remote mission
I wanted to prove myself, you see
I knew my faith was strong, has always been strong
I wanted to give myself, really give myself totally…
To God, of course, to my vocation
'But Sister, think of the danger!'
Silly man, for all he is a Bishop. What if no one else would go?
We had a mission there once
There are souls that need saving; would Saint Paul not go?
I have as much faith as any man, and as much courage
So I am here
Somewhere in South America, I forget the name
Small print on faded maps… It is this place
It is where I am, in this jungle,
Awful heat and leaves and hanging vines
And green, so green, everywhere you look
The village is small and where it ends
There is this wall of green, the jungle
As if it were waiting, always waiting
Do you know, my first day here
Climbing up from the jetty with my bag,
Along a trail you'd think a goat had made
Around a bend I came upon
A creature, a kind of leopard
Or no, I think they call it a jaguar
The people here have some Indian name for it
They think it a god, can you believe?
And it sat there, he  sat there, right in the path
Of course, he would have to be male, such arrogance
As if he owned the place and what was I doing
On his path, well I said shoo! Or something
Rather loudly I suppose
He just sat there, staring
You aren't supposed to look them in the eyes
Those eyes
Green, so green, wells of green fire , lit from within
And I was falling, drowning…alone
I was alone upon the path
It…he…had gone
It is silent now
I mean, well, of course it is never silent, here , in the night
Calls and whistles and cries from creatures
Hunting and hiding and having…that day
That first day, arriving at the village
Dusty and hot
As if a cluster of mud huts could be called…
And the little whitewashed chapel
Half ruined and neglected
The door sagging open onto darkness
I made them fix it, the few who came
One spoke a civilized tongue, passably
So the Sisters who had been here before had not been
Entirely idle. Miriam, her name was Miriam
Or some unpronounceable Indian thing
Why did they go, the ones here before,
I said at last, for the Bishop
Only spoke of danger Oh she said
They go, he not want
Who I said but she looked away
Miriam, I said, I want to know. One of the others
Gabbled something looking up
Toward the hills, a heap of stones, or something
Catching the light, the last light of the sun
What is that I said pointing
His place she said, mumbled, and then something else
A word, all clicks and grunts…
He is still there he
Made that sound again, that cry,
Halfway between a growl and a scream
Is he, hunting? You would think
It would scare all the creatures away, that cry
But perhaps they only stop
Where they are, unable to move unable
To do anything but wait in the moonlight
For him to come
That first night
We had a service
The half dozen or so who came
They had almost forgotten their responses
I had to help them, disgraceful
Toward the end I noticed someone, a man
Standing outside watching
As I gave out the wine and wafers one by one
At the final Amen he came in
A little man well they are all little here
Bone necklaces and things, obviously someone
Of consequence, an elder the others
Moved aside, heads down for all the world
Like children surprised at some naughty game
Yes? I said, looking down at him he pointed
To the remaining wafers he gabbled something
Sorry, I don't understand I said he
Gestured impatiently to Miriam
Adding something else when she hesitated
Priest say what is food she said
Priest? I said This man is a priest?
Not like you said Miriam frightened
Hunting desperately for words
Priest of…again that word
Clicks and grunts and at the end
A little purring sound
He spoke then, sharply
Tell him I said
It is the body of our God
And this, pointing to the chalice for him to see
Is His blood
It impresses them you see usually
But this man, this shaman or whatever
Well it was like when you make mud pies
Children playing and a grownup comes
Smiled then and said something else
And left What was that I said
But Miriam only shook her head helplessly
No words she said, scared
Out of her wits well what can you expect?
I prayed that night
Under the netting in the heat
And it came to me
That temple, holy place to them if I
Went to it, showed my God was stronger
Unafraid…Miriam I said next day
I want to go there and I pointed
Up to the hill where the stones were
Is there a path I said and finally
Made her show me
Wouldn't come of course
Scared, the lot of them but as I climbed the path upward
Saw them following and smiled…

This endless night
Does he never sleep?
Moaning, moaning now
I know it's him
Out there beyond the light
Of this feeble lantern green flash of eyes
Alone is he lonely No! Only an animal, a beast
Prowling about one's imagination plays tricks that is all
It was not a name that sound
Not a name
Reached the place at last
Reared up from the jungle round about
Rough pyramid of huge stone blocks
With a doorway unto darkness
Were all there, I could feel their eyes upon me
Well enough to imagine courage but at length
I went in
Dimly lit from somewhere, some opening overhead
Clean at least, swept out, well of course
They would take care of such a holy place
With the thought came anger there
Was a block of stone a sort of alter
With a little image, rough pottery
Him, it was him!
Green, green eyes of malachite
Sitting there like some God  
Mouth open laughing
I felt as some Old Testament prophet
Jeremiah, someone like that
I dashed it to the floor, the  image
Broke into fragments one malachite eye
Staring still at me they made a sound outside
Like wind, wind in the trees, moaning
Outside where they stood watching
I ground it all to powder with my foot
See I cried my God…and he
Was standing there in the doorway
That same little man
Looked at the ruin of his pagan god and smiled
Actually smiled, raised a finger
Brought poor Miriam, stumbling in as though
Tied to a rope poor thing, her hands
Over her face he
Looked up at me, still smiling said something
Sounds back in the throat, clicks and grunts
And that word with the little purr at the end
Then gestured sharply to Miraim
Priest he say she managed to gasp out
This place for you…
So I had won, after all, triumphant
I smiled down at him, at all of them
He smiled back for all the world as if
We shared some little secret, he and I
Gestured to the broken fragments of his god
And said something, bowed, and turned to go
What was that? I asked Oh said Miriam
And there was awe, awe
In her face as she looked up at me
Priest say, he still here
Nearer now and made that cry again
Something like a scream and roar together
And then a  moment of absolute stillness
As if this whole dark jungle held its breath
Waiting for some answer
I will not listen I will say the prayers…
Droned litany of unfelt words
That once were magic, once…
It took half the day, to bring my things up here
Along with the cross and alter cloth
They did whatever I asked
To make this place my chapel
Just like the early missionaries building churches
Over the stones of some bloodstained pagan shrine
And then we held
The first service here, as the sun was setting
Flooding the little stone porch and alter
With its dying ruby glow
I sang
The final hymn loudly, triumphantly then turned about
To find they had all gone, every one
Their candles dying in an empty room
And now it is dark, too dark to find my way
Even if he were not out there, waiting
Prowling about this ancient place
His place why am I here oh why
I do not belong here then oh why
Does he make that sound, that moaning
It is not a name, it is not my name he calls
No it is the name of someone small
Someone little and dark who does not dress
In vestments such as these
Well I shall take them off and he shall see
The moonlight bright upon my body
I am not the bride he seeks, no
It is someone else
Brought here, prepared for him
Offered to him, the chosen one
Now I stand in the doorway
Rough stone warm beneath my feet
He calls again I see his eyes
Glowing like two moons
Greener than malachite
One step I take as all the jungle holds its breath
Waiting as he waits
I raise my arms as she did
That other one, so long ago
Is it her longing I feel or is it mine
I do not know for we are one
We walk forward into the darkness
Toward eyes of green fire twin moons that burn
His name
I speak his name, deep in the back of my throat
With the little purr at the end
And he answers
His voice
Fills all the night and all my being
One step more
And I am his

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.