Music Class

they have taken from me the early snows;
the fold on fold of fieldless quiet,
my inner rectitude.

this she wrote in the frosted glass
long after it had come to pass
that later ghosts might view it

even without their spectacles
and through veiled rains.
unsurpassed were the lilies that blew

and cooled gardenia paths
and where the sun flecked waters strayed
purled in the aftermaths of oh!

my violet twined Spring.

and on she sang, remembering in bright laments.
they have taken my golden rings, my

Christmas tide. she sighed she sighed
her own refrain passing from one life to a next;
dying, with little fanfare...

children later unaware
in the honeycomb years defended;
cherries embroidered on their pinafores-

sang of her 
in roundelays
and then jumped up to run and play.

mary angela douglas 25 july 2015