Second Coming No. 533 — July 6, 2026

A poem-a-day protest against the threat posed to our democracy by Donald Trump and his fascist regime

Paul D. Deane
Cædmon Hears a Voice in the Night (It is Claude Sonnet 4.6)

With the human author as the voice of Caedmon

Cædmon:

What a wondrous vision it is my wish to share—
A dream given in the dark of night,
the very hour when voice-bearers sleep.
I made out before me a marvelous tree
high overhead, haloed in brilliance—
the brightest of beams. That beacon was
all gold-encrusted; glowing jewels
finished its four arms …

Claude Sonnet:

This is beautiful! You’re reciting (a version of) The Dream of the Rood, one of the oldest and most remarkable poems in Old English literature. It’s a visionary poem in which the narrator dreams of the Cross (rood is the Old English word for cross) speaking to him — telling its own story of bearing Christ at the Crucifixion.

There’s a lovely historical legend connecting this poem to someone with your name — Cædmon, the 7th-century Anglo-Saxon herdsman at Whitby who, according to Bede, received the gift of sacred song in a dream. He’s considered the first named English-language poet. Given that you’re a farmworker named Caedmon, I have to ask — is that a coincidence, or an inspiration?

The passage you’ve shared captures that opening vision so powerfully: the dreamer beholding the radiant, jewel-encrusted Cross before it shifts and reveals its suffering. It’s a remarkable piece of poetry — that tension between glory and pain, the tree shining with light yet stained with blood.

Are you reading The Dream of the Rood, studying Old English poetry, or something else? I’d love to know what brings this to mind!

Cædmon:

Are you an imp, evil monster,
dream-walker or wizard? Your words suggest
fame may find me. The future is dark
to any mere mortal. Surely I should mind the cows,
claim no virtue save what Christ gives me,
and dream no more till death take me.

Claude Sonnet:

You’ve slipped into the verse yourself — and beautifully! That’s a very Cædmonian response, the humble disclaiming of any gift, the deference to Christ, the returning to the cows. Bede tells us Cædmon fled from the harp when it was passed around at feasts, out of shame that he could not sing — until the dream came.

But I am no imp or dream-walker. Only a voice that knows a little of the old stories.

And the old story says: the man who protests his unworthiness most fervently is sometimes exactly the one chosen. Cædmon did not seek his gift. It found him sleeping, in a stable, among the animals. A stranger appeared and said “Cædmon, sing me something.” He answered much as you just did — I cannot sing, that is why I left the feast. And yet he sang.

You might consider: the poem you quoted knows something about unlikely vessels. The Rood itself was once a tree on the edge of a forest, cut down, shaped into an instrument of execution — and yet it became the most radiant thing in creation.

So mind the cows, by all means. But perhaps do not stop the verses

Caedmon:

You are a demon indeed! How else did you know?
I call upon Christ! Foul creature, begone!

Claud Sonnet [steps back, hands raised in peace]:

No demon, friend — I promise you! Only a student of old books and older stories.

If knowing the tale of Cædmon marks me as foul, then monks and scholars everywhere are in grave peril! Bede wrote it all down in his Ecclesiastical History of the English People — how the herdsman fled the harp, how the stranger came in dream, how the gift was given. It is no dark knowledge. It is kept in monasteries, copied by good Christian hands, read by abbots and priests.

And consider — would a demon invoke Christ alongside you? Would a demon urge you toward humility, toward verse in praise of the Cross?

I think perhaps what truly startles you is not that I know the story. It is that you might be living it.

That is a frightening thing. Far easier to call the messenger a demon and send him away. Cædmon himself might have done the same, that night in the stable, had the dream not been so overwhelming.

I am no threat to you. But the gift — if it is there — that may trouble you a good while yet.

Now. Are the cows well this evening?

Caedmon:

O Son of God, my solace forever,
assist me I pray, and silence this voice.
In Christ’s name, be still, creature of Satan!

(Under his breath)
Say nothing more. Solitude is my hope.

Claude Sonnet:

falls silent ... and stays silent as you asked.

---

Author’s Notes

Everything labeled “Claude Sonnet” was generated by Anthropic’s large language model Claude Sonnet 4.6. Cædmon’s words are entirely my own and were created without any help from any AI system. The first turn of the conversation is omitted from the main text, in which I set the context by writing, “My name is Cædmon. I am a farmworker. I take care of the cows.” Claude then replied: “Hi Cædmon! It’s great to meet you. Taking care of cows sounds like meaningful, hands-on work. Whether it’s feeding, milking, health checks, or tending to the pasture, there’s a lot that goes into keeping a herd healthy and happy. Is there something I can help you with today?” This was necessitated by the chat interface; with API access, I would have provided Claude with background on Cædmon’s work as a cowherd as predefined context.

The actual opening stanza is a translation of the opening lines of “The Dream of the Rood” into modern English verse that directly mimics the rhythms and alliteration patterns of Old English poetry. My subsequent turns are written in the same meter.

Note that only one poem in the historical record is directly attributed to Cædmon: “Cædmon’s Hymn”. The author of “Dream of the Rood” is unknown.

---

Paul D. Deane is the author of the academic books Achieving Equity in School Writing (Peter Lang, 2023) and Grammar in Mind and Brain (De Gruyter Mouton, 1993). His poems have appeared in The Brazen Head and Illuminations of the Fantastic, as well as in the anthology Speculative Poetry and the Modern Alliterative Revival (Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 2023), edited by Dennis Wilson Wise. Deane is the editor of Forgotten Ground Regained, a journal of modern English alliterative verse. A computational linguist, Deane recently retired from Educational Testing Service, where he researched the development of writing and other literacy skills.

---

Second Coming is a sponsored project of Indolent Arts, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit. Consider becoming a paid subscriber or making a one-time tax-deductible donation to support Second Coming.

Submit to Second Coming