the incredible pink playhouse rose
into the clouds: melted strawberry
wrapped in cream
with gleaming windows
where the bluebirds streamed.
why would they sing
anywhere else?
it had peppermint towers,
a roof of plum marzipan
and no witch ever.
the door was a spun-sugar gate-
spinning, you wished yourself through.
we carried pails of the coolest shade
just to live there all summer
drinking pink lemonade.
and matching.
mary angela douglas 27 may 2014
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