Buttercup Station

I dream of buttercup station.

with a children's railway nearby.

and all dressed up with striped candy

they will ride and ride;

as if in a third grade reader

with lilacs and sweet peas beside

a fence painted mint, all Heaven-sent

and it never rains, unexpectedly, outside.

at buttercup, the sun resides.

pink flowers, a small house

for each one, sugar spun and

custom made.

and in the shade,

doll houses for the dolls

with Victorian furniture

rose patterned walls

a grand piano with a tiny hinge.

and we have concerts with the wrens

all the spring time

just for them.

though they can't applaud

(the dolls)

in buttercup station.

all the ice cream's free

in whatever flavors

you want it to be.

you'll look for your mother

at the end of the line

and bring her loads of valentines

from buttercup station;

where every song's a lark's

and supper's, whenever,

long past dark and the taffy pulls,

the homeward gulls-


whenever you finish playing

and we all plan on staying,

at buttercup station.

mary angela douglas 21 july 2019;rev. 23 july 2019