I am sharing this tribute to Terry Pratchett – courtesy of the wonderful poet, Marc Mordey. terry pratchett

    The colour of magic

What’s this?
The Discworld suddenly stilled.
The Librarian utters a muffled, choking Ook!
Angry mutterings issue from a star dusted, rainbow crazed, magical book.
The Luggage lifts its lid in silent tribute.
In the Assassins Guild, knives and other such Thieves of Time
are lowered.
A Golem glowers, breaking the mould,
dwarves, goblins, werewolves, trolls,
gone the stories, gone the gold.
Witches lower their broomsticks,
to fly no more.
Lord Vetinari is blacked out,
the clacks have nothing to shout about,
The Nightwatch nowhere to walk about.
Sam Vimes, Lady Sybil
all left to doubt.
The cast of characters too many, too bold,
how much story, how far the masterful imagination,
must remain,
untold.
IT IS DONE
The great turtle, serene, untroubled perchance
paddling its huge flippers
in the ever changing celestial dance,
notes, a wide brimmed hat
a grey beard, a whispered hint of black,
an author, happenstance?
THERE IS NO MORE.
Ah, maybe, but are you sure?

Find more of Marc’s poetry at http://themarcistagenda.wordpress.com

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