Today The Small Birds Have Flown From My Poem

today the small birds
have flown from my poem;
the ones that wanted to be silver;

that kept me company
through stolid hours.
small leaves are weeping in the winds

the ones that wanted to be gold;

and that, forever
whispered the girl
on the balcony.

or merely on
Lorca Street disowned
and made of moonlight.

will it always be this way?
sighed the small breezes.
that is more than I can say,

the poet sighed;
their sighs together: a small
parachute of flowers...

mary angela douglas 25 june  2015