speaks to me of Narnia:
the last book, the last battle.
Long before Dr Who,
C.S. Lewis knew, we knew
of the stable bigger on the inside;
though that door was rough and wooden,
a portal can disguise itself
as a gate in a lichened stone wall.
But enter at your peril.
The Irish faery folk haunt castles
and barrows, and mortal souls
can wander their land for a day; returning
to find it is seven years or seventy.
And Narnia was a faery place.
Look, admire, beware; walk through –
only if you desire to be bewitched,
craving the adventure of your life.
- Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #21