the unknown troubadours sang
to you or I
in a world apart
where we went searching for the extravagant names
of things as though they were diamonds.
oh weep for the unrecorded tournaments;
the unwitnessed walking of the planks
set in motion
by the pirates of their time.
I do. I do. as though it were a wedding vow
and know the history
of real poetry
leaving its scars behind,
can only be this.
mary angela douglas 23 july 2016