To The Recording Angels By Way of Poetry, Music

green breezes of the world,
their emerald shadows
I loved best in the aprils

of my time
I know I will say to the recording angels
then they may smile.

of the white flowering trees
I know my soul was only one
not the pale pink of the plum

but of the apple tree.on borrowed time
the apple blossom was my early song
state flower of Arkansas

where I belonged I thought.in the
land of the milky quartz
the Monarch butterfly

the blue jay feather and its ragged
sapphire cry in the afternoons
when Grandmother taught me

taught my sister more
the pearl edged radiance of music
the lore of dolls

the beauty of the pause in music
heartfelt in its cause and played that way.
only and evermore

the violet shading of the door when we turned to go.
no more than this I know.
I knew.

mary angela douglas 1 february 2020