The Lion makes a net with lines of love
and wisdom, bound with knots of power
and command. It is a net of magic song, of
calling into being. See, a shower
of stars stands forth where the net was flung,
its weaving now entwined with intricate
counterpoint, for where the Lion has sung
now sing as well the noble stars, so late
come from the void. And in their light stands
Aslan, at whose roar the universe thrills.
Now, from his feet to the sea-lapped sands,
and across the silent valleys to the hills,
the grassy green of life shoots out like fire
and a world breaks forth like a note upon His lyre.
11 August 1971
[I thought something lighter than my life review might serve as a palate-cleansing sorbet.]