It's The Confetti Of Moonlight

it's the confetti of moonlight

poured on the small child's floor overnight

that lets her sleep in wonder

never getting up at all

except when she smells ice cream

from the hall all the way down

from the buttercup kitchen

vanilla with Hershey's sauce

and maraschinos scooped into three

bowls now, not two.

prescient from the beginning

regarding things that matter.

a strawberry scattered dawn

the clover spared from the lawnmower

rejoiced over with her little sister.

the stars the stars the stars

from a small window viewed

and endlessly from the top bunk

not to be overshadowed by the

pink nightlight

in the pale blue room, asleep.

mary angela douglas 3 january 2014