In the silence of the evening light and wintered sleep
I dreamed your eyes and kissed your ageless time
and there you were holding my hand as I slept without a peep
for you were Narnia running wild in the Cotswolds deep.
And you my monk, my Oxford don did speak a heightened tongue
as I dreamed and dreamed of the ancient Hindoo city of Mandu.
While you had moved on to play and entertain the Sun
for you are the mystic fire that only the theologians knew
And I was just a poor boy awed by that crack in the sky
because it was there when the sliver of light did
came a giant octagon screaming night-time fire
And it was you dear Bede a holy sacred sphere
My birthday October Christ did I hear!
