Into the Book

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The first verse of this poem is actually over two years old — I wrote it back in October of 2016, and fiddled around with the meter and rhyme scheme until I was happy with it. But I was never able to finish the poem, and my poetry in general tailed off drastically in 2017. But, here we are, and I managed to finish this after I found a scrap of paper with the first stanza written on it.

I’ve always wanted to write a poem about Lucy Pevensie: her heart for Narnia are a big reason I loved C.S. Lewis’ stories so much. So, without further ado:

Ah, youngest, brown-eyed maiden of the trees.
You dance along these covered hills of white
And call all friends of Aslan with your light.
Daughter of Eve, pure like fresh-fallen snow
The trees bear witness to your starlit glow
You are this forest’s quiet, gentle breeze.
 
How was it when you pushed past coats that morn?
What thoughts ran through your young and eager mind!
What wonder, still untouched, for you to find.
In the land where oceans gleam and giants roam.
You sought and found your unmet dreams of home.
But quiet reigns, and hope is still forlorn.
 
She will not loose her hold on night so soon.
Her sleigh patrols, ruthless and without bell
By Charn itself she stokes the ice of hell.
Are there still those who have not bowed the knee?
Will those who are left fight alongside thee?
You came to turn our midnight into noon.
 
For snow and ice melt in the heat of day:
Here you struggled against the evil queen.
Sisters, brother, and one caught in between,
Roused to fight by the pow’r of Aslan’s breath.
Your cordial sweet turns back the power of death;
This mighty hope has driven dark away.
 
Ah, youngest, lover of this land,
Take me now, tug upon my hand.
Show me the beauties of new spring,
Show me the land where forests sing.

Published on 13 December, 2018. Last updated on

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