Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Postcard For The Tin Soldier In Tintypes Of The Rose
[to Hans Christian Andersen, of course!]
how beautifully you remembered that room;
sailing back from doom it seemed far lovelier
than when the something snatched you from it.
stately, the Christmas castle on the nursery tabletop
imparts a rosier glow;
amid the evergreens and swans
the pink dancer perfectly pink
is balanced still on the mere spangle of her heart.
how long you had floated in the gutters
gnawed by the water rats-
never wavering in the dark-
still musket bright
though who would have seen you there
being brave in the dream
of not one toy coronet flourish
to sustain you.
and now you're home ah, so it seems
but the wind will find you
turning it all to snow
outside the elaborate windowpanes
till not one flake of you remains.
the nursery fire dissolves
and you are gone.
beyond the storyline I see each time:
each of them, stalwart not pretending
and my toy coronet surprises
not ever the green, gold,
with its small Christmas
epitaph, at last, for you:
here blooms an Eternity of
floating on pink waters-
mirroring the rose gardens of Heaven
mary angela douglas 15 october 2013;revised 18 october 2013