"The Bed Time Story" by Joseph Seymour Guy‘Journey’s End’ and Other Poetry by Talbot Hook The Society December 19, 2021 Beauty, Children's, Poetry, Villanelle 2 Comments . Journey’s End To Adventuresome Children at Bedtime Mountain, forest, stone, and stream all glisten under sun, While golden morn and midnoon beam call children out to run. But after day has had his say, see night ascend her throne; Home to bed and hearth and song, we shut out the unknown. With mist upon the window pane, set warmth and light inside; Myth and monster cast their nets, yet stay a while and bide. Those tucked tight in bed tonight all share a happy fate: We’ll tend the fire and shed our cares to pass the evening late. Beyond the door are wind and fog, but here are kith and kin; Turn your backs upon the world! What’s better out than in? Gathered now in amber glow, our feet warmed by the fire, Voices sing of legends past — hours thrown onto the pyre. Little hearts grow calm again, and minds are freed by song; Yawns strike out past shielding hands while secret dreams grow strong. “Maybe, now, it’s time to sleep,” familiar whisper hints: “The fire is burning low and dim from midnight’s fingerprints.” So darkness grey and morning chill come creeping ‘cross the floor: Dreamy yawns of kids grown still, and here and there a snore. Dully now the embers glow, sweet morning waxes deep; Stars yet tend their fires above, greet we below our sleep. . . Borne Away A small boy is thinking thoughts sublime (Visions tracing lines upon the air, All borne away before their time). On gnarled tree, begins to climb (The trunk grows from a kitchen chair) A small boy, dreaming dreams sublime. And now he hears a silver chime (From backyard elven kingdom fair), That’s borne away before its time. With honest hand and artless rhyme (For mom some scribbled lines to share), A small boy’s weaving words sublime. From sudden storm in temperate clime (And fall while sledding down the stair), He’s borne away by suppertime. With speech now gone, let pantomime Speak silent words and whispered prayer: A small boy, nearing night sublime, Is borne away before his time. . . Talbot Hook is a PhD student and occasional writer currently living in Connecticut. NOTE TO READERS: If you enjoyed this poem or other content, please consider making a donation to the Society of Classical Poets. NOTE TO POETS: The Society considers this page, where your poetry resides, to be your residence as well, where you may invite family, friends, and others to visit. Feel free to treat this page as your home and remove anyone here who disrespects you. Simply send an email to email@example.com. Put “Remove Comment” in the subject line and list which comments you would like removed. The Society does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or comments and reserves the right to remove any comments to maintain the decorum of this website and the integrity of the Society. Please see our Comments Policy here. CODEC News:Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) 2 Responses Cheryl Corey December 19, 2021 I found the first two lines of “Journey’s End” very melodic. They made me want to keep reading, and I did. Hopefully you’ll find the time to become more than an “occasional” writer! Reply Talbot December 21, 2021 Thanks so much, Cheryl! I appreciate the kind words. That’s the goal, eventually; time, as we know, is hard to come by! Reply Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. Δ This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.