it should have been the letter to the king
I dropped in the tisket or tasket
in the green and yellow basket
in the thrush bright spring
with seven kinds of sealing wax
banded with gemmy rainbows
buttercups, someone said
under the chin.
and someone would have found it
wrapped it up in tissue
and sent it on right then
because we dreamed it that way
everytime we were swinging into the clouds
and Grandmother said, come in girls,
it's going to rain.
then we were going to live in a house
with rose patterned wallpaper
and a thin green stripe
another of pure silver on each panel.
but the letter wasn't delivered.
I dont know what happened that day.
call it fate, an unsatisfactory story.
but we still dream of glory;
morning glory, stay
and in the retelling,
make it all turn out that way.
mary angela douglas 20 june 2019
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