the ones of gold, the quiet ones of amethyst
that old dreams may be caught
in their rainbow scales, alive.
who are you whispered the wind
as it did in childhood
and the trees bent near.
and all is green again and kind,
as in the time of early emeralds.
are we on the decks of the orchid ships again,
and can't stop singing?
why will you hasten away?
we said to the sun or moon,
to the least star blazing.
mary angela douglas 28 january 2017