Paul StJohn Mackintosh

Writing * Poetry * Dark Fiction * Weird * Fantastic * Horror * Fantasy * Science Fiction * Literature

New Poem

(for Diana)

Hush, little baby, I implore,
and let your mother sleep some more,
and you shall have a treasure trove
of everything that comes with love:
the Christmas tree with all its lights
keeping its vigil through the night,
dry corncobs hanging on a string,
pumpkins and gourds, and festive things;
a water castle in a lake
to charm your dreams where, for your sake,
messengers ride north, south, east, west,
to fetch you back whatever’s best –
the bees’ sweet gold in crystal jars,
white diamonds fallen from the stars,
tame singing birds with rainbow feathers,
the amaranth that blooms for ever,
a cross-eyed robin on a card –
while household presences stand guard
over your head, cosily wrapped
and cradled gently in my lap,
the perfect circle of good faith,
unbreakable, to keep you safe.
All this I promise you, and more,
so let your mother sleep some more.