Monday, January 23, 2017

To An April I Remember

how have they stolen april away
the april of my mind the one entwined
with early violets

the cold and greening winds.
send some other messenger in my stead
perhaps she said

if words were spoken at the end.
I will recall the early buds
the chirping rivulets of the silver sounding birds

the fragrant and the wistful air
oh how absurd to the modern poets
all she is:

small flowers every where
and quietude

standing alone on a hill
pale lilacs in her hair.

mary angela douglas 23 january 2017