sweetpeas spilling over the palings,
small pink roses
the ruffling breeze
through the baby's hair
playing in the yard
and will there really be no wars
these were my imaginations of Heaven
the bluebirds always near
even when soaring.
honeysuckle glad, our tunes
on eternal summer afternoons
children on the swings, launching off
into beautiful things,unending;
and the small pools rainbow clad.
and we will drop our sadness there
as into crystal well
said Grandmother, turning the india paper
pages as though there were clouds
or will it be, only the wind
and all of us
feeling so emerald
in the shade of immortal trees.
mary angela douglas 11 april 2016