The Blue Flowers Then, The Ballade

I was not thinking of the blue flowers then.
of the effect of moonlight through gauze clouds
of crystals of snow weaving through thin air

and dizzying like small tulle ballerinas.
of the curlicue frost I could make no translations
the moon in love with the white stones marking

the fairy tale way
I couldnt find the words to say for those who swept by
in particoloured dancing

you will think me vague though I wasn't.
perhaps you were the snow child you may have smiled.
the Princess who could not smile.

after a while I wont see through the haze
of how things were interpreted then.
I heard blue notes on a radiant piano;

I knew that it was Chopin.

mary angela douglas 25 june 2020