For the Well-Loved Characters

 
Dreaming, a book open on my knees,
I sat by the fire and watched the flickering flames.
Shadows danced in the room that was unlit by any lamp.
Shadows danced, took shape, stood silent before me.

And then they spoke, soft voices whispering,
Hands eloquent. Enthralled, I could not move,
Not fear but wonder held me still.
I saw that they are well-loved friends of mine.

We had not met in this world of stone and mud,
But had met in the realm of thought and dream.
Tales come to life, warriors and maidens tall,
Clean limbed horses galloping over endless plains.

Here we are, they murmur, here we are as we were dreamed,
Here we are as we sprang to life, in our true shapes
We stand before you in the firelight. See, the fire gleams
On her golden hair, in his gray farseeing eyes.

The great horse bows his shining neck and soft his breath
Ruffles the pages of my book. The warrior smiles
And sets his helm aside. The maiden sits, her white robes
Pooling like water about her feet.

The enchanted hour fleets past. I do not wake,
I have not been asleep. They fade with the dawn.
The hearth is cold, the ashes gray and lifeless.
But memory lives, that fire never dies.

- Varda