MADRIGAL

 

MADRIGAL

A benediction as of tears

Will flower here

Perhaps each whispered to his lute

And wove the pomegranates into rhyme

The golden apples of lost Time and place

I cannot at this date assess

But I confess in madrigals I find

A well tuned version of my mind

That drops slow tears at errant shrines

And weeps for the departing birds

As if my heart had been their nest

In all my dreams I labor thus

To find the state of mind like this

The paradox  that in it flies

What’s fair and lovely

Often lies

Whats plain, is beauty in disguise

And if I could in green dells dwell

I Know my dears I know full well

the madrigals are my glass bells

as though my soul were ringing  there

and each note did my soul compel

as flowers in May do scent the air

love’s hope is mixed with love’s despair,

lament for beauty

on a vanished stair

await the end or the reprieve

the moon stage left in ivory, grief

in ifs inevitability;

the play is set

the poem that mirrors sweet regret

that bears its own forget me nots

into the violet blue of Space imbued

with all I could ever say or do

anachronistically, I choose.

mary angela douglas 28 may 2024