from my own rose trees petals sifted
downwind of the unpetaling moon
all that's silver's cast up again too soon
on the farther shores of darkness
I cried or someone else
harkening to the larking green.
the unseen children wept
while we told ghost stories
in a modern age.
you have hidden your rage
in old rooms I said to them;
the ones patterned with rose trees
on the sliding walls
with a thin stripe of green.
mary angela douglas 30 january 2016
downwind of the unpetaling moon
all that's silver's cast up again too soon
on the farther shores of darkness
I cried or someone else
harkening to the larking green.
the unseen children wept
while we told ghost stories
in a modern age.
you have hidden your rage
in old rooms I said to them;
the ones patterned with rose trees
on the sliding walls
with a thin stripe of green.
mary angela douglas 30 january 2016
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