a diamond pond.
that much is certain
to those who know
the oldest version of the story.
well, if I turn it round
one somersault and a half
in the summer grass, spring muddy ground,
will I be found wanting?
say, it is a diamond wood.
it looks that way in the school day dawn
waiting for the bus to come on.
why shouldn't the pond be gold
when the sun rose that way
is all I can think of to say
when the teacher frowns:
no, you've got the hat on backwards.
flowers to the front.
will they send flowers to the front
some silver day that's wept clean through?
some countries managed to;
when we closed the book
and ventured out
to see what the shouting was all about...
some day the books will be closed on
some day made of crystal,
of the mirrored glazed cakes...
may it not fall apart.
when the heart figures out its own
version of the story.
mary angela douglas 8 august 2017
Note on the poem: Images are taken from the Russian fairy tale: To Your Good Health.
that is, I borrowed one silver wood, one golden castle, and one pond made of diamonds.