pink prairie stars and near to the sloping blue
how long will you linger
after the wagons roll
how long.
catching the glow of
your mysterious pastels
I do remember
wishing for a house of sod
built out of the sloping blue
out of the sloping blue and God.
the cornflowered air.
and long can I linger
how long inured
to the wheel tracks on my back
the Conestoga furies
the swamp grass gas
in every hue and fretting the faery fires
for my sweet Mary.
downstream from Heaven
the grave of old settlers
barely remembered
near the sloping blue...
mary angela douglas 19 april 2014
Note on the Poem: I have made a kind of American
settler ghost-poem and coloured it a pink prairie sky-colour
(and a sloping blue of the hills infered).
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