Runner

The kingdom bells rang out, rang out,
and cornered every cobbled street,
whose stones lay worn from summer heat,
and scuffed by dashing, running feet.

The windows whispered as he passed,
and clapped (for ignorance is bliss),
but through the cracks they caught a glimpse,
and spoke the origins of legend.

He flew between the roofs of houses,
scaled the heights of the kingdom towers,
looked down upon the streets below,
his eyes, his smile, the both aglow,

and watched the bobbing lanterns,
swimming through the lanes,
forming clusters at open doors,
but the night parade could do no more.

Admitting defeat at the first light of dawn,
retreating, their words as clear as were they worn,
“He’s the son of a ghost,
and in shadows was born.”

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