the books we loved were sweeter tongued
I dont know where all beauty's gone
from all the parables of song
and song itself has rancour become.
dystopian, and so put upon
to speak one phrase of the honey dew
to live in honeysuckled ways
is still a possible thing to do.
sophistication's clueless grime
has soiled the pearl faced clock of rhyme
and spoiled the strawberries in the lane
and clogged the heart with such disdain
I dont know where the beauty's gone
from all we cherished, made, of Song.
mary angela douglas 5 july 2023
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