led to this spot.
so green on the map; it's where they hid the gold.
through no fault of your own you (may) have been
told this in dreams.
and now, here you are
land locked with your favorite sand pail
filled to the brim, your little spade.
missing a few stars...
shall we take to market, then the
fresh tomatoes, corn and okra
we might have grown
on better soil?
oh, let's pretend we can!
and that we will withstand
what blizzards may come.
the nursery rhymes have scattered on these
blue transparent winds.
somehow, the children (may)
begin again. outpourings of rust
from a jeweled soul I can and I may.
I will pin on their gauze wings.
God will sing to them.
mary angela douglas 22 july 2015 rev. 13 june 2017