The Next Day

 you were in love with the falling Graces

so jubilant when they were no longer themselves

like the witch who daubed mud on Elise

so that the king her father couldn't tell

she was still his own daughter.

you on your throne you decide about it all.

the big and the small.

I know you will. until you are sick of proclamations

and proffeed peppermints

as if you COULD ever have your fill.

how to pick and choose your gipsy way

through other people's fortitude I cannot say.

it's your ballgame.

and then peacock display it

as if it were your own.

thinking no one will know:

you don't own anything

you just pilfer it.

dont you know 

the fairies will come by moonlight and snatch it back

it wont be there the next day.

mary angela douglas 25 december 2020