Not Spoken Is Still Lived

not spoken is still lived
though you keep it to yourself
and in the early mornings

visit the shrine
half obscured in the mood of half remembered dreams
when you first awake in a pale green room

and the dew extravagantly still on the grass
soaks your shoes

as though silver had come to pass overnight.
and you, you dream of wearing white
and a wreath of kind roses

as though from a photograph long past;
oh let the edges be blurred of the coronation,
but not the openwork, cut embroidery

on pastel cottons

while you ponder in your heart
every syllable unheard
as if you were a bird

at the pearl gates of Heaven
fated to burst into Song.

mary angela douglas 27 july 2016