the singular language always
I long to hear
like raindrops pattering on a tin roof,
the fronded overhead of trees, afterwards
the skies; mimosa, feathery, pink
and the remaining drops, splashing down on me,
unexpectedly, in the beautiful patois.
and I imagine, out to sea,
in ships with cargoes of gems and radiantly,
ah! the silver sailed; someone is
speaking there to the winds
the beautiful patois.
send them oh Lord the sunspent winds
ever after, after;all the gold You have
and for them through rough seas
the hurricane's eye to the Blessed Isles
the laughter of coraline stars
that there may they speak with angels
and be free;
endlessly, in the beautiful patois.
mary angela douglas 22 april 2016