Note: Please, don't forget to imagine a 6 or 7 year old Wilbur in pajamas as you read this interlude. Just a small break from all that seriousness. Hopefully not too fluffy. Thank you.


Chapter 4:

"Wilbur, have you brushed your teeth?"

"Yeah dad." The little boy snuggled under the thick blankets.

"Goodnight then, son." Cornelius, still wearing his white lab coat, went to turn off the lights.

"Wait! Can't you stay…just for a little bit? Just until I go to sleep."

"I thought you said you were too old now to be afraid of the dark."

"I'm not afraid," he huffed. "I just miss you that's all."

"Oh, alright. You want me to tell you a bedtime story."

"Dad! I'm too old for bedtime stories!"

"Too old for that too?" Cornelius laughed and sat down on the bed beside him. "Then what do you want me to do, young prince?"

"That's an excellent question." He mulled it over for a few seconds. "We did poems in class today. I thought they were nice."

"So you want me to recite poetry for you?"

"Yes please!" Cornelius could hear him smiling in the dark.

"Okay…let me see if I can remember one. It's been a while, you know."

"Just try your most best."

"Okay, this is one of my favorites…ahem…There will come soft rains." Cornelius possessed a beautiful rhythm to his voice; the reason Wilbur had wanted him to recite. "And the smell of the ground. And swallows circling with their shimmering sound. And frogs in the pools, singing at night. And wild plum trees, in tremulous white. Robins will wear their feathery fire. Whistling their whims on a low fence wire."

Wilbur felt his father stroking hair in the darkness and giggled as he felt the butterflies in his tummy.

"And not one will know of the war, not one will care at last, when it is done. Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree, if mankind perished utterly. And Spring herself, when she awoke at dawn, would scarcely know, that we were gone."

The last words hung in the air for Wilbur. He stayed quiet, hoping that there was more to it than just that. "That was very sad, daddy."

"I'm sorry. I'm not a very good poem reciter, am I?"

"You are! Tell me another one. But a happier one this time."

"Okay, okay! Give me a sec here to think…ahem…We are the music makers. And we are the dreamers of dreams. Wandering by lone sea breakers, and sitting by desolate streams. World-losers and world-forsakers, upon whom the pale moon gleams; yet we are the movers and the shakers, of the world forever it seems."

"With wonderful deathless ditties, we build the world's great cities, and out of a fabulous story, we fashion an empire's glory. One man with a dream, at pleasure, shall go forth and conquer a crown. And three with a new song's measure, can trample an empire down."

"We, in the ages lying, in the buried past of the earth, built Nineveh with our sighing, and Babel itself with our mirth. And o'erthrow them with prophesying, to the old of the new world's worth. For each age is a dream that is dying, or one that is coming to birth."

"That one was good daddy." Wilbur yawned.

"Is that all you wanted, my prince?" He couldn't help but play fondly with the spike on his son's head.

"No…one more." Wilbur shifted again, his breathing becoming deeper and softer.

"But I don't know anymore."

"Make one up then." He yawned again; a longer and fuller yawn this time.

"I'm really bad at rhyming."

"Pleeeeease!"

"Alright…geez. I just wanted to warn you." He chuckled.

Keep moving forward my son. Keep moving forward.

Towards the land of endless dreams

And bright sea shores.

May the obstacles in your path, not trample your spirit.

May the darkness never hinder your way.

May the earth and the sky always love you

For this and more do I pray.

I pray that you smile

Everyday, my son.

And that you will never feel unloved.

But there will be days, when my prayers go unanswered,

And you find yourself lonely and sad.

Just think of me, your father, who loves you ("Very much," Cornelius whispered.)

And remember the words that I say

Keep moving forward, my son. Keep moving forward.

The soft sounds of snoring broke the silence. Cornelius fixed the blanket over the boy's body and gave him a slight kiss on the forehead.

"I love you Wilbur."

He watched him sleep for a few moments. Light streamed through the window and illuminated the figure before him.

"May your nights never be dark my son. May you be forever blessed by the light of the moon." And softly closed the door.


Note: These are two of my favorite poems. The first one was "There Will Come Soft Rains" by Sarah Teasdale and the second one was "Ode" by Arthur O'Shaughnessy.

Hopefully you enjoyed this little break. I know I did. I think. Just wanted to do a random episode really...well, see you again in two weeks time.