Departing

They marched out of Narnia
on talking chestnut mares,
peacefully they surrendered
their many gathered years:

they cast away victories
like over-worn pelts
and stepped back into
childhood with little regret.

The older I get–wiser too–
the more I wonder
what I would do

if someone placed the same
warmly lit post along my path,
would I welcome it fondly?
Would I wish to forget?

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