caught in the Snow Queen's bright, exacting mirrors
children pick their way through the shards of facts
somewhere an apricot sun is dreaming
they can never feel it on their backs
wasting their lives on riddles that heal nothing
sifting no labyrinth sublime
faint in the awful spell she's weaving
fading before they start in their own Time
who will deliver thee from ice floes
core ice drilled in thee hark, the chime
Christ from the sweet light vanquished
returning, cries in the slaughterhouse
NO! all these are Mine.
mary angela douglas 6 october 2021
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