THE BLUE PORCELAIN OF THE SKIES
Wrought iron cannot sway me
Elaborate gates
Rose curtains at the windows
The moon, early or late
I want to live in the enchanted woods
Shaded by heavy green branches
Their greener shadows
To live by a stream that never floods
To eat berries and honeysuckle flowers
To think there of God for hours
To watch the emigrating clouds
The blue porcelain of the skies.
mary angela douglas 28 april 2024
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