It Was A Kind Of Story Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

it was a kind of story I was telling

to you in a blue mothed summer

on the stoop of a summerhouse


we wanted to live in

we were five and three

a little house


with pale green curtains

where we could eat pretend strawberries every day

and play, even in deep winter


and dream there were December roses

and the Christ child in our room

where we sang softly a glass bell tune


lest he should awake

and you sang the star, the star

and plinked on your baby piano


with the coloured keys

and plinked and it really was Christmas

and evergreen


we wanted it to stay evergreen forever

and when I think of it,

it did.


mary angela douglas 27 october 2019