The Autobiography Of Small Flowers (Earlier Version)

children came across them first
pink and starred with dew
and bent down entranced

to see their reticent sparkle
as if they knew they were made
for them

lemon butterflies dart near
it is clear it was clear to me then
this was the playhouse of outdoors

the azure ceiling
the sprigged grass
the trees arching over

a lake of glass

and pine cones scattered
where nothing else mattered.
and clouds would pass

like fleece of angels
time, what was time then.
coming across wild violets

on the walk from school

and the violets understood
who we were too.
in their small dignity enwrapped,

enrapturing

and perfumes.
and everything after the rains
making us silver inside

as if we were made of stars
and we were.
we are.

mary angela douglas 2 september 2019