a fairy tale river ribboned through the world
visible to some, shining in odd places, shimmering chimera
to little children.
some floated boats on it, some cast necklaces of flowers,
the rainbow broidered merely smiled (mysteriously).
it grew, the fairy tale river, past all we knew
even past all we would never understand
about the unenchanted lands,
past trees in their summer bowers
and where an unseen music carried us
through livid hours, through walkie talkie ravages of time
still bordered with eglantine, with airy castles
and with cherried towers late afternoons hours
edged sky to sky in Romany and while
the world decried: "Anomalie!"
etched deep beyond the mire of day-to-day
in living gold I prayed
and told at times beside no hearths at all
where hope was an amethyst scrawl where
the fires burned low
and when that failed
and all our harps wept winterly
still they ticked their tocks the tales of old
on days at home with the doors and windows closed,
when the little sod crevices let in the blast
we still held onto them through the looking glass
and when it rained we remembered the
beautiful refrains
and when authorities complained
still ours to keep
a rose red rose white flame
asleep, awake I send to Thee
oh Thou, most Steadfast
we dreamed of.
and grew into at the last.
mary angela douglas 15 march 2015;27 november 2023
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