Monday, September 02, 2019

The Autobiography Of Small Flowers (Final 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 then the picture books,

with their may apples.

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

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