F O U R

Once lifted neat
From off his seat,
Where shock had rudely placed him,

He rubbed his eyes
In case the tide
Of facts had just effaced him.

His father sighed,
But could not hide
A look of urgency,

So quickly led
Him to a tent
Of finely crafted leaves.

And settling
He set to sing
Of honest fatherhood,

But truth was out,
And in no doubt
How false he truly stood.

So for his son,
And his patience,
He left and came back holding,

A gleaming chest
With ancient crest
Well gilded deep and golden.

Where by he flipped
Its splendid lid,
And lifted out a letter,

Then cleared his throat
To open out
Its contents for the better.

It read that he,
His father, free,
Of all encumbrance known,

Could shed himself
Of floral wealth
If bravery was shown.

And leave the trees,
And their beliefs,
Behind for evermore,

By treading fine
Across the line
Where boughs break open doors.

And into hues
Of rain swept blues,
Beneath a previous sun,

Where colours seen
Are not all green,
But every single one.

His son fell back,
As if attacked,
Or only quelled by death,

And reaching to
His sire, threw,
More questions with each breath.

Whose words were these?
Where from their seeds?
How did his father get them?

Why chase them here?
When first appeared
This desire to abet them?

And how come, he,
When spoke of leaving,
Was told to stay in bed,

Whilst all the while
His father’s guile
Was gamboling ahead.

His father blushed,
And finger hushed
His son for silent lips,

Then gestured out
Towards the crowd
Of gathered dealerships,

Who looked in awe
Of what they saw,
Within their hidden market.

As giants knelt,
And gladly dealt,
And caused a little heartache.

For recently
There seemed to be
A lot more than once ventured,

Into the woods
To bare their goods
For any so indentured.

And that was how
His father found
The letter and its message:

He’d caught the word
Of giant herds,
And secrets in their blessings.

And that was why
He bade his boy
To linger safe at home,

In case these tales
Bore worse travails
Than they had ever known.