Fleeting Conversation With The Snow Child

to my mother, Mary Adalyn Young-Douglas, in memory of...

I am the clock that's made of stars

she faintly smiled but I didn't understand

the cupboard with myriad jams asleep

the sing-song sung, the quiet sweep of hands

round the face of the moon the snows

that go, they will go and you won't 

expect them to.

I wondered.

then it was spring.

mary angela douglas 10 march 2015