they will arise: parting the dark green velvet portieres
at first, on a vacant Christmas stage
with delicate stealth.
no longer adored.
still they pass muster to defend
their ancient playmate's children's children.
how rich their estate, with candy stripings
fresh cut boughs of pine of fir.
missing no starlight, candlelit and strange.
they will arise again and again
tucking into old sugarplums, nougat well
preserved, this army's provender.
splendid in scarlet trimmed with a gold
language barely spoken anymore.
in a flourish of bisque, rose-hatted
over the modern lawns they march
squashing the crew-cut dubious grass
where once were whole meadows
flower full. (and "cowslips" piped a little girl
in organza, colour of orangeade
"don't leave them out of the story.")
and it is spring in the techno-centric world
where fairytales hardly count anymore.
your shutters will not keep them out,
taking the babies by surprise and
bringing back the fairy gifts stolen
at cradle-side.
they will arise
heading over the violet hills to the metro areas
and taking charge of the scraggly grounds,
the fruitless enterprise and (after dark),
rattling the windows of the office park
dispensing lollipops all around.
mary angela douglas 19 february 2014
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