Who keeps guarding the king’s golden pear trees
filched by moonlight is falling asleep on the job
their slippers danced to threadbare pieces
nor stitched up by the applesauce sun
and missing another folkloric deadline
am I, am I the only one
in a spindly secret silver language
making the hemstitch work
that lengthens the shadows in the orchard
or is that too fine a point to make
in the fairytale coming apart at the seams
the diamond swans on the diamond lake
they will forsake
Christ will redeem
all of us lost on the fairy tale way
and not waylaid, but saved
and Light light up the skies that were so dim.
in the snow codes I have learned to live
in candlelit Christmas semaphores
in metaphors for the Rose of Jesse’s sake
revivified, let the census
of evergreen joys begin
mary angela douglas 11 december 2023
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