Jane Yolen


You saved none for yourself,
dear man,
gave it all to me
That bird’s eye, and song
you cultivated
till the very end.
You who did not believe
in angels
was left with no protection.
Mortality was your choice,
not healing,
not Heaven.
You do not dance now,
but stride
with the Wild Hunt
Across endless greens
whistling up ouzles,
calling down owls,
While I sit
on my lonely bed,
writing poems of longing,
growing ever deaf
to bird song,
till I can speed,

well at last,
into the green
of your waiting arms.





Jane Yolen’s 380th published book is about to come out. She sends out poems to journals on a regular basis and has quite a few in sf/fantasy magazines as well. She is a Grand Master of SFPA (Science Fiction/Fantasy Poets of America), as well as a Grandmaster of SFWA and World Fantasy Assn. She has won the Nebula two times, Mythopoeic Award three times, and been nominated (but never won) for the Hugo several times. Six colleges & universities have given her honorary doctorates for her body of work.