crossing the small rubicons
in my wayside poems
don't let me trip on the words of pearl
unless it is to go back
and gather them dearly again
as if I were still a little girl;
my wildflowers, buttercups under no chin
with tiny sparks of dew
how happy you made me then,
all my life through
writing you in my rooms
remember me in His kingdom, wont you?
that in a world of strangling soot
I never crushed you underfoot.
mary angela douglas 3 january 2022;29 january 2022
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