On the Edge of the Garden
By Elara of House Landon, age sixteen
I saw a bird of gold and flame
Alight upon the fountain’s rim.
It did not speak, nor call my name,
But watched me as the light grew dim.
I asked it, “Do you come from sky,
Or from the sea’s forgotten tune?”
It blinked, and in its silent eye
I saw the shadow of the moon.
The garden held its breath awhile,
The marble trees stood still and tall.
I curtsied with a practiced smile—
The kind they teach in father’s hall.
But in my chest, a chord was stirred,
A note I’d never sung before.
Not fit for court, nor fit for word—
But something deeper, something more.
The bird took flight, the stars grew bold.
I stayed behind, with ink and scroll.
And wrote this down, as I was told—
To catch the shape of what I hold.