Rupert’s Truth

That dark hollow underneath

all that is green and delightful

and for all your blithe youthful

manful trying to deny (tripping

light words, heroic forms)

it is there, ancient:

a rotting bog.

 

Coming up through that leaf tunnel

(summer-bunting, bird-green)

to see the rose sprawling tangled

within crumbled tower

I felt it humming below.

Long before Thorn’s warning

I knew if I were to cut her free—

please her at her word—

I’d tumble as surely into that hole

that her roots had long been carving.

Not a trap as he would have it

but merely a regrettable casualty

of nature’s own force.

 

I borrowed the first line from this poem of Jenifer’s. It got me thinking about beneath-the-surface things, which led me to Rose-Witch and Rupert because I was in a mood for truth-in-fiction over fiction-in-truth.

 

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