Of Birth and Death

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Window to another world

where Narnia is freed at last,

where what the winter wind has hurled

can settle into Ice Age past.

Death to one sounds living knell,

 swan song’s notes to bury snow;

 Spring arises from its shell

as Winter sinks to grave below.

Tears Are Gems

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Her tears roll swift –

hot harbingers of head-aches to come,

they puddle-ize her.

She fears that if they keep falling,

there will be nothing left to call her own,

no stamp on her collar to remind her

whose she is

or where she came from

or what she should call herself

at a party.

But tears are

gems;

to a seasoned Collector,

they are mermaid-magical,

gathered lovingly in a bottle

and counted.

When store is sufficient,

they will be returned,

Narnian Elixir,

potion powerful enough

to reconstitute the Walking Dead.

So cry, precious heart –

tears are

gems.