Not All the Branching Paths Are Gold

not all the branching paths are gold

she told herself in sudden moonlight

even though it seems

so, chided the small breezes through

the ivoried harps of trees; where should

I turn in these thin slippers

embroidered with cherries;

will kingdoms keep beneath the snows?

or anyone record for whoever's interested later

coming on the scene in a peach bartered spring-

this was the coldest winter seen by

all the melting poets,

ever after

mary angela douglas 20 july 2014