to Walter De La Mare
in the slender goodbyes like these
ice breaking the trees
the furtive gleam on the pond
while the moon drifts glimmering on
whether it's then or now
it still feels the same somehow
new mist or old
the chill in the soul
in frost or in rime
the barter for time
still shimmering on
the ghost of my song.
mary angela douglas 25 october 2019
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