with the striped tiger in the picture book
the sun overhead like a lemon drop
your one good pink parasol
you would have been content to live
staring at the pale blue walls forever
imagining the stars.
fate intervened with her lavish bouquets
her way of always interrupting the music
at the critical point.
at the critical point you grew wise as a saint
abandoning all to God
in the crevice of time a red rose brightened.
the gift of the Magi, the wish to be free
came unexpectedly into the picture
so splendidly.
mary angela douglas 20 february 2022
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