The Red Shoes

dancing was never like this
and to tell the story true
it never would have been

if she had listened to her Grandmother
but now the toe shoes sparkled
crimson under moonlight

and she couldn't stop turning
so that the birds flew up
from the trees

with their vivid dreams
and the forest ferns glittered
with indifferent dews

and still she floated os  beautiful as
an airy cobweb flecked with ruby half lights
on her own

incapable of anything else
but breathing
until the organ sounded

and the break of day
resounded with the bells
and weeping,weeping

where the steadfast angels stood
in snow bright columns. out of the deep woods
she turned again,spent spent to the last

dark penny, home.

mary angela douglas 6 august 2016rev. 28 january 2018