"Love is my gift to you," he said.
I smiled. "There are rivers in your embrace."
"However dull these walls, come let us shine a light," he pondered.
Ah, verses from Abigail! the thought went through my mind.
"The whiteness of all dawns has spread its angel's wings upon me," I replied, and paused for a brief moment. "And in the dawn of life, I opened up my arms and ventured / into the unfathomable guess, / a world of sheer delight."
He laughed. "Byro and Naymo. Nice touch."
I kissed his lips, and we continued to speak in verses, speak in riddles, while all around us poets spread their wings and knowledge from books upon the shelves; and there were kingdoms there of remarkable grace, and soaring dragons, battleships, and romance; police, detective, comic books; we laughed, reciting to each other.
"Oh, be I but a King in mantle!"
He gazed at me, delighted as I searched my mind, and searched, and searched, each moment adding to his mirth.
"Where is that from?" I asked at last.
He laughed again and glanced around, pointing at the top shelf by the door. "Híretho'me," he whispered. "Second volume. The end of the quest."
"I don't recall," I said, still searching my mind for the memory of it.
"But be ye faithful to this quest, my friend of old, / My friend since time / Invented Athelas, you see, / Then we might conquer days of gloom / And days of trial / And days of fume..."
"You've changed that verse!"
He shook his head. "Revised edition, translation after Tom's hyromyr Elder Tongue." Victorious, his smile.
Such are the days in our delightful house.
Photo credit: Annie Spratt, Unsplash
