It Was A Kind Of Story

it was a kind of story I was telling
to you in a blue mothed summer
on the stoop of a summerhouse

we wanted to live in
we were five and three
a little house

with pale green curtains
where we could eat pretend strawberries every day
and play, even in deep winter

and dream there were December roses
and the Christ child in our room
where we sang softly a glass bell tune

lest he should awake
and you sang the star, the star
and plinked on your baby piano

with the coloured keys
and plinked and it really was Christmas
and evergreen

we wanted it to stay evergreen forever
and when I think of it,
it did.

mary angela douglas 27 october 2019