The Snow Maid Dreams Of An Impressionists' Spring, A Few White Violets

THE SNOW MAID DREAMS OF AN IMPRESSIONISTS' SPRING,
A FEW WHITE VIOLETS

I'm fading from the world, the snow maid glistened,

her words in paragraphs of clouds, suspended, listen...

no more winter concerts under the nebulae.

it's not so hard to melt when you know why.

you're dwindling into pastels!
 -in spite of everything,

I'm fading for the world

so there'll be Spring...

and rivulets that run by banked up flowers.

remember me when the trees rain down white hours

on the pavements, drifting in flowered heaps before you,

when you walk to the Great Museums.

mary angela douglas 19 june 2014;rev. 24 april 2015