the music of gardens is my soul
the emerald trilling of birds
the splash of clouds and sun with shade
the pearl grey doves.
the gate as Rilke said, where wishes wait
and the mixed perfumes
of all the loveliest blooms and I will translate
them or pick the least bouquet and fling it at the stars
in remembrance of all that was taken away
on the forced marches of the world
the music of gardens is my soul
I read perhaps from a poet long ago
woven into a dream scripted manuscript:
facing exile.leaving a note for the angels
under a stone.
mary angela douglas 2 september 2020
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