Lost In The Archives Of The Dead Letter Poets

lost in the archives of the

dead letter poets

I found everything gold

as the turning of a leaf that

does not turn; the tinge of

spring, of an april at the

first, of frost turning back

at the flowers petaling

having escaped the heavy snows.

long would I linger there

as in the fairy stories when

the citizen returns, he thinks,

at supposed daybreak

but it's been three hundred years

mary angela douglas 3 october 2014