stop for a moment and read this poem.
let the greenery of it rustle in the wind
and there you are again can it be so
that child you were a long time ago;
a child of the wind yourself
that blows with attendant angels all corners of the map
whimsical geographies of this and that
the old antique inaccurate maps, be their tigers or dragons there
remember? in silver party hats while expecting cakes...
you were Time said strictly, at work and now you're not and you can
breathe more like a metronome in search of music
and in the poem are all the roses you had forgot
each individual rose scent, colour, contour and the petals
drifting or not drifting in the backyard, painted on china
embroidered on a screen
or you are at home and hear your mother calling you in
from the blue grained dusk
look up from your invoices for a moment, from the dusting
from your latest to do list in the kingdom of what must be done.
oh shun. shun everything but the clouds in the afternoon sky and
later on while you are still on the bus, the train
you still keep your work face on while
they are turning to rubies emeralds yellow diamonds.
this is for you then
when it happens:
remember the poem that told you so
time isnt always what you think it is...
you know.
mary angela douglas 18 october 2021;3 may 2023
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