shadows of swans, snow tears magisterial
in this white valentine enfolded are
framed at the window from
which I cannot turn
there are silver apples in the air
will I ever understand
your pure spectacles of soundlessness before me
through the glass
or what in your mind makes it begain again...
how your heart breaks off
little pieces from a distant
sky to say something, anything
filtered through lace and lace and
mystifying - so that I cannot hear-
but only feel it-
shred your clear crystal flowers from on High
for softest reasons known only to You-
and hush the shadows of swans in me
that want to sing only the ends of the stories, oh-
there are silver apples on the air
this winter in Shalott and the wind through the
syllables of trees
stands still-
mary angela douglas 7 december,4 december 2010
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem