They Have Drowned Your Maytime

they have drowned your maytime
and oh how in vain the sprigs of syringa
from this Spring I carried then

for you
I broke from the twig
and the green woods echoing

echoing my breaking there.

and echoing I also said
they have drenched your snow
blossoming name.

days I watched to no purpose
the quick overnighted, lightning budding of the leaves,
of tiny flowers suddenly sparkling

of the children gathering there
the little children.
dread like a sea has drowned it all

until the last toll of God.
maytime, village, stones and all
our folkloric stores, the filtering

stained glassed suns.
the whitened bells in the undertow
(the open door no more no more

onto the little gardens.)
dragging all music
from the irised shores.

mary angela douglas 24 october 2015