The Little King

In memory of Philippe

‘Twas once upon a time … ‘tis thus the fairy tales begin,
Then with children open-eyed, their little hearts they win.
They take them to a fairy world where they can freely dream
And fill their minds with wonders that full of magic seem.
Tom Thumb and Sleeping Beauty, Cind’rella’s crystal shoe,
Snow White and Seven Dwarfs, and many creatures too.
The older youth wants heroes more suited to his age
They will be his models when at last he turns the page,
And grown-up he becomes the hero of his tale;
The enchanter now it’s me, and here I will not fail.
Once upon a time, lived a wizard not yet grown,
Dwelt in his magic world, lost in his dreams alone.
From Kings of Spanish Empire came the name he bore,
While he was pure as crystal and loving to the core.
He was gypsy in his ways, always seeking something new,
Thought himself like Harry Potter, his model in his view.
He’d be a mighty wizard, as the story tells,
Fighting every evil with a thousand magic spells.
Dressed in wizard’s robes with long and pointed hat,
He’d wave his magic wand or fly upon a mat.
Then cosmonaut he’d be, flying into outer space,
Riding waves of light and reaching every place,
Speeding into galaxies, constellations every one,
Leaving far behind our planets and our sun.
With magic hands still pure, his conscience yet was clean,
No sin, no vice, but honor bright sent forth a golden beam.
Legends old, adventures bold, charmed his little mind,
The Golden Fleece and Holy Grail, the myths of every kind.
The magic wand held in his hand for him was something real,
It op’d the door of fairyland on which he’d set his seal.
A little subtle fun, grave face but artful play,
Stone that turns to gold, to a dream world far away.
Fearless hero facing beasts, monsters to be fought,
Dragons, centaurs, ogres too, fiends of every sort.
Faces pure come in this world as seen at every birth,
In the growth of his own child a father sees his worth.
Mystery, reality, the unseen and the seen;
In tears, his father said to me, “No one like him have I seen;
His saucy look, his tender smile, the question in his eye,
His angel face, his charm and grace, I’ll remember till I die.
Ever full of life but sometimes lost in dreams,
His ideas were all his own when he played with all his games.”
And through his tears the father said, “He’s a pearl gone far away
On angel’s wings outspread, another game to play.”
Like water in the hand that cannot long be held
A treasure’s disappeared like perfume soon dispelled.
God of love and kindness, of mercy and of grace,
What flower have You culled for your celestial place?
Do You wish to cull a flower from our garden here below
And pluck from our hearts the one that we loved so?
But he is truly Yours, and we say, “Take back this boy!
If there’s sorrow here on earth, in heaven there is joy!”

Joseph Matar
All rights reserved © LebanonArt
Translated from French: K.J.Mortimer