Peter Wyton

Alison, Rosamund and a Wyvern, by Salvador Dali

A capricious time-warp,
A fusion of phenomena,
A concertina of centuries

Propels Alice and Rosamund
Back to the towpath at Godstow,
Watching a Wyvern.

Alice in seer old age, a whole
Wonderland of wrinkles
Away from the looking-glass.

Rosamund immature, the face
And figure which captivated
A king, as yet undeveloped.

Hand in hand in the sunshine,
The nunnery ruins behind them,
Facing their familiar river,

A dean’s daughter, released
From the ludicrous shackles
Of perpetual childhood.

The consummate Clifford,
Not yet exposed to the hazards
Of hobnobbing with royalty.

And the Wyvern, most obscure
Creation of the bestiaries,
Enjoying unlooked-for attention,
 
Responds with a rousing display
Of aerobatics — chandelles,
Inversions, Immelmann rolls.

An old lady, smiling. A child,
Clapping her hands in delight.
Something fabulous, in show-off mode,

Not attracting the attention
Of moorhens, single scullers,
Diners on the Trout terrace,

Or distant, cud-chewing cattle,
Thinking deep collegiate thoughts
All along the flood meadows.

The tableau registered only
By a manic, moustachioed artist,
Brushes careering across canvas

In desperate haste to record
Another hand-painted dream-scape,
While the best of the light holds.