can I help it that I want to read books
where children eat bowlfuls of raspberries
with bavarian cream
in sweet little bowls with a pale green glaze
and under the trees in a matching shade
and where there is just enough breeze
to make the summer, Spring
can I help it if in a once upon a dream
I manage to go back there
in the pastel tinted train and ticketless
that used to run round the park
oh never deliver me
from the firefly dark again
or from lingering at the table
over the perfection of Neapolitan ice cream
chocolate, vanilla and strawberry
all at the same time.
from the chime of the xylophone
at the school assembly they let me play
and tambourines and folkloric dance costumes
sewed by our mothers.
some things should stay
like thick snow skies the school week before Christmas
and the inexpressibility of sparkling and reverence
comingled in the air
about us everywhere,
the love of home
the deep inhalations of the fir trees
and even alone
the stained glassed feelings
the Christmas lights in brilliant shades
resembling the Renaissance at its apex.
crowned with angel or star
and the baby Jesus we loved in the small window creche
like he was our own shy little brother
the one all the caroling was for.
mary angela douglas 21 novemer 2017
where children eat bowlfuls of raspberries
with bavarian cream
in sweet little bowls with a pale green glaze
and under the trees in a matching shade
and where there is just enough breeze
to make the summer, Spring
can I help it if in a once upon a dream
I manage to go back there
in the pastel tinted train and ticketless
that used to run round the park
oh never deliver me
from the firefly dark again
or from lingering at the table
over the perfection of Neapolitan ice cream
chocolate, vanilla and strawberry
all at the same time.
from the chime of the xylophone
at the school assembly they let me play
and tambourines and folkloric dance costumes
sewed by our mothers.
some things should stay
like thick snow skies the school week before Christmas
and the inexpressibility of sparkling and reverence
comingled in the air
about us everywhere,
the love of home
the deep inhalations of the fir trees
and even alone
the stained glassed feelings
the Christmas lights in brilliant shades
resembling the Renaissance at its apex.
crowned with angel or star
and the baby Jesus we loved in the small window creche
like he was our own shy little brother
the one all the caroling was for.
mary angela douglas 21 novemer 2017
