On the 50th anniversary of my death

“After being conditioned as a child to the lovely neverneverland of magic, of fairy queens and virginal maidens, of little princes and their rose bushes, of poignant bears and Eyore-ish donkeys, of life personalized, as the pagans loved it, of the magic wand and the faultless illustrations–the beautiful dark-haired child (who was you) winging through the midnight sky on a star-path in her mother’s box of reels…of Griselda in her feather-cloak, walking barefoot with the Cuckoo in the lantern-lit world of nodding Mandarins…of Delight in her flower-garden with the slim-limbed flower sprites…of the Hobbit and the dwarves, gold-belted with blue and purple hoods, drinking ale and singing of dragons in the caverns of the valley–all this I knew, and felt, and believed.”
love, Sylvia


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