I dreamed that music went so high above the clouds
that we went after it in our scuffed shoes
launching from the backyard swings
in our plaid or gingham school dresses.
stay for awhile, sheep clouds, we cried,
that we may stop and look and listen
to the colours in the sea
where the little mermaid drowned
no longer capable of singing.
but her music flew high, higher than all clouds
and afterwards we thought maybe if we
had worn our golden slippers
on the way and carried our milk money
carefully like Grandmother taught us to,
things could have been different.
mary angela douglas 10 june 2015