"Mirion" by Brian Buckley

Mirion

Blue twilight rolls beneath the hill
The hour is late; the air is still
Atop the grassy crest there sits
A boy, whose young and eager wits
Strain curiously through the trees
At hints of lights he thinks he sees
And there he sleeps until the dawn
Beside the lake in Mirion.

The grasses sway and sighing bend
Before the cool and growing wind;
He sleeps. His dreams may wander wide
Across the newborn planetside
But deathless doubt forever flows –
The night is deeper than he knows –
A starbird wavers, then moves on
Beside the lake in Mirion.

A vast and bleak nocturnal chill
Yet pours down from the mindless will
That sets all life beneath its own:
The forest and the barren stone.
The warning lights behind the trees
Still broadcast their unspoken pleas
But desperately – and blades are drawn
Beside the lake in Mirion.

The morning comes, serene and red
And from a green and matted bed
The child awakes; he yawns and stands
He rubs some heat into his hands
The world has not yet ceased to be –
Still bright for all that he can see –
And off he goes, where death has gone
Beside the lake in Mirion.