and wish them well all at their golden looms
that weave the body to the soul again
when all that God had spun's unspinned by fret and care,
dark things that take us unawares.
oh, keep the heart within its golden cage
amenable to april and less prone to rage.
I feel the tears subside in all my limbs
and now I am a living tree again though small
and the green leaves wink and sally forth
and so my music gains another chord
and builds upon itself.
O God who made the starlight, please make me anew.
there's still so much I want to do
and think and feel and reel in all the days
their substance sure as mine to praise; perform this,
sewing the shadow back to the silhouette as Pan
could not himself alone, so Wendy tried.
and then all shone.
may I count it all joy
in every joint and bone!
mary angela douglas 6 april 2016