God Grant To The Countries In The Fine Mists Of Your Eden

God grant to the countries in the fine mists of your  Eden

a returning way through the fairytale woods

even as music is barely heard at first

when the children open their eyes

in an unfamiliar room.

and if the skies above my page are snowless still-

missing Christmas and the evergreen-

let flowers be gathered by imaginary springs

where the waters flow over the bruised soul.

it's deep in our winter caves that I keep sweeping up

the broken nebulae around your hallowed head

or pressed against the windows of Your far kingdoms

I'm just keeping still.

awaiting starlight and the rose corolla

as it was in our beginning

mary angela douglas 14 january 2014