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of silver chairs and knights unfair/WWN/8/9/06/1137pm
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Fire make for me a face
that set the room aflame!
that will kindle curds of a lustful fire
when the witch throws her for the game
in the falme
to the mane
for the fire
and her desire
never ceasing from the north
and then make for me a laugh
that echos cheerily
when the other girls sigh wearily
and my amber eyes see clearly
and my tear is oil on the flame
and here we are again
in this same enchanted game
that know no name
and speaks no cry
but through twlight questions why
and thence make for me a dream
far beyond all talltale
that sends a shock firmly
dissovling the magic fair
the rest upon her hair
and the many faces she'll wear
continualy in my dreams
with laughing lips
that go unkissed
oh send me now a dream
you'd have to know me to understand it all. it's really the only way. but i can tell you much of it was insipered by The Silver Chair, which the word amazing does not quite cover describing it's contents. i urge you to find a opy and emerge yourself in one of the greatest experances and gifts i've ever known.
This is incredibly beautiful as a poem, but I am not entirely sure what it means. Can you give me some help here?
Starward