circumspect in velvet in the train of her long thoughts
no one imagined perhaps a princess stood a
lady of the hours of the miniatures of flowers
she kept turning page by page in a honied
light, if not, forever.
it's hidden in the seams of no castle left on earth
her quiet dreams her astronomical conjectures.
really you may say, in all that quaintness?
but I say how can we know her thoughts
and who would consult the historians
who only remember the Wars.
mary angela douglas 27 november 2013
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