A Poem

Most of you come to this blog to see pictures of our kids, and maybe read the words that often accompany said pictures. This is not that blog post. If you feel betrayed, let me at least point out that the following poem is written by Jack's namesake: Clive Staples Lewis. It is untitled, and comes from a letter he wrote to Bede Griffiths, published on p. 44 of Yours, Jack.

They tell me, Lord, that when I seem
To be in speech with You,
Since You make no replies, it's all a dream
—One talker aping two.

And so it is, but not as they
Falsely believe. For I
Seek in myself the things I meant to say,
And lo!, the wells are dry.

Then, seeing me empty, You forsake
The listener's part, and through
Me dumb lips* breathe and into utterance wake
The thoughts I never knew.

Therefore You neither need reply
Nor can: for while we seem
Two talking, Thou art one forever; and I
No dreamer, but Thy dream.

* In the book it is 'limps', but this is probably a typo, as 'lips' makes a lot more sense.