it makes you sad
when dark waters under moonlight
no longer reflect:
as in the fairy tale of the end.
and when the white
poetry of the heart is scattered;
when the bough cannot
break into flowers
the sun the sun into flame.
oh this your song they have broken into
as if they were thieves
no longer recognizing
the sacrosanct.
what have they made of you, sweet language!
from their thirst to be central
but a bitter road extended and a winter term;
God in His radiance forgives-
coating the ice with deeper rainbows
than Before
than Before
mary angela douglas 22 october 2014.
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