farther into the music it will start to snow
for the lost children in the fairytale
you know,
hand in fragile hand under veering moonlight
holding each other up as though they could
sip the moon from a silver cup in the dubious Wood
and enchant the birds.
conjure the birds to show them where to go sojourn
in deeper music ever deepening snow oh
who will guide them now, their feckless angels?
or is their doom sealed shut
or is their small print case on vast appeal
I dare not ask of anyone yet but, oh, I try to feel
one day unwavering Spring will emerge
when there will be no more dirges left on earth.
mary angela douglas 3 september 2022;27 february 2023
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