EPHEMERA
Prologue
It was in the park that I met Nathaniel.
In softened cords with vanished nap,
and ancient shirt of faded plaid,
he seemed at one with drifted leaves,
(all carelessly by autumn tossed)
that lay upon the river bank
to counterpane the glowing moss.
The river chuckled as I smiled at him;
we hadn’t met but he did look kind.
He was dreaming by the waterside,
as if he saw a gentle moment
holographed upon the grass
or looked, perhaps, beyond the sky
to find his solace in the past.
How old was he? I never knew,
(his hair was peppered, iron grey)
but as we smiled I said, “Good day”.
Nathaniel’s craggy face was creased
with merriment and frank delight;
and so I chose to sit a while
admiring ever-changing light.
As fitful sunshine in the trees,
filtered in with prismed rays,
the leaves rode down like pattered rain;
a drowsing breeze began to play,
to stir the grass to spirit smoke.
Nathaniel closed his eyes a while,
the silence grew, and then he spoke.
We sat until the evening came,
(my mind entranced by vivid tales,
of long ago that never fades,
in heart and thought forever held).
His voice was warm on every word
as he recounted wonders gone—
so here I set the things I heard.
Chapter 2. Maid of the Morning