Mystery deepens as time proceeds. He knows
As little now as at the wordless start,
When all seemed wondrous. Only now, grown old,
In thrall no longer to willful reason,
Enchantment manifests itself once more,
In his patient garden during winter.
Awaking in the night, he finds himself,
As at the start, unafraid of darkness.
Frank Wilson is a retired Inquirer book editor. Visit his blog Books, Inq. — The Epilogue. Email him at PresterFrank@gmail.com.