With Almost No Rustling Sound

with almost no rustling sound
oh golden my paper bird
folded its paper wings

I cannot fly it whispered shyly
only to me. I said:
I will inscribe you!

it began to rain.
oh why am I weeping
wondered my paper bird

almost aloud.
I said, half-proud,
you have become a poem.

mary angela douglas 14 august 2015