the death of wendy

what an awfully big adventure t'would be
to die so young, so magnanimously

there broods a girl who lies in Kensington;
the child-mother who turned twenty-one,
she stares at the stars while she lays supine
and dangles her feet in the Serpentine.

'oh to be a child, to be a bird
to sing and dance and fly, oh to be cured
of life, and hearts that break and hopes that try
not to give up, oh not to want to die'

how childish love hath wrought so mature a grief
that must she make her bed for his memory,
for his heartless youth and the feeling still
she thought was love...and now her love to kill

so she bends down to kiss the cheek of death
with hero's lips pressed to immortal flesh
and wins her sleep beneath the soft still rill
where mermaids keep and heavens weep their fill

soon a child alights with hands on hips
disheveled hair and the smell of pirate ships...

his breath is short; the child's heart breaks
he sinks to his knees, his head his hands take
bitter tears flow warm as the orphan cries
and curls into a ball as his Wendy dies


What an awfully big adventure t'would be
to die so young, so magnanimously,
to quit this life and grasp the evil hand,
to reach the stars and to never land