Monday, July 20, 2015

Rose Carol Caroled And It Not Even Christmas Yet

[to God in His reverent daydreams]
and to my sister, Sharon...

it's certain I am He counted every needle and pin,
every dropped stitch as a real attempt.
as for me, I wanted to live by

the rick rack stream
near the mill wheel turning
and all the millers, free.

why shouldn't it be
I'd ask Him dearly, this
being my very own prayer and

clearly wanting it to be so
that the spokes in the tangerines
would carry us breezily, goldenly

to all the balls and in shimmery velvets.

and the honeysuckled air would breathe
and flow around the fairy tale's obstacles
as in the paintings of Van Gogh

with the marshmallow clouds all billowing

and we would stand small, firm and
arm in fairy like arm with all our
bracelet charms, my sister and I

before our grandfather's rose garden
as it it were the entire world.

mary angela douglas 20 july 2015 rev. 14 june 2017