Brian Sutton-Smith

Peter Pan

Where your window grows
Impatient in the cool evening
Beside the gum;
Where the house stands
Folded in the arms of two streams,
There one night
As the dark falls lightly
Upon the heavy green,
There where the lawns,
The gravel path, dart
Closely upward through the
Shrubs and trees,
All will move some night
With the light
Of the little Man.

Towards your window
Out of the night
Where your window waits
He will come,
And then the whole surround
Both streams, trees and
Darkened shrubs will in the crowded air
Rise with the road
And throw the mite-man
Upwards to the impatient window
Which, arms outstretched,
Will draw inside
This shrub-thrown Peter Pan.