INTO THE CHERRY DALES

for what tumbles over

into the cherry dales

spilling its silver pail

and must be righted again

sending its colours into a summer spinning sky

or flares, if it is at sea

its please remember me

for what falls off the edge

and slips into the flowered hedge 

or the music box made out of lead

measuring the unsequined hours

captive in the fairytale towers

for what exists beyond all whys

I cast my nets of gold  of fugitive enterprise

that Beauty may be free from lies. but not

from cherishing.

mary angela douglas 4 september 2022