finding the door behind the door
we smiled in the garden
and were free of the mountain passages
where the roses blew
the clouds even cloudier than before
and the skies grew pink from it and
wouldn't ravel and the roads weren't gravel
they were gold as was foretold in the newspapers
back east when the pioneers went west
and the cream never curdled and the sun
never set in the west on the year round strawberries when
we were dressed in our Sunday best even on Mondays
in bonnets of silk and dresses of polished
poplin, and carried baskets of mignonette
as if we were valentines when the neighbors stopped
in for ten layer cakes, fresh coffee from the springs
and gazed at the fields already plouged
when wishing was everything
and helped us rake in the jewels while the
babies danced the highland fling
and drank from the gourds of amethyst
our fill and if you believe this
here are hills upon hills
of yellow diamonds on the wide wide prairie everywhere
and you don't even have to say your prayers
to find them
mary angela douglas 1 august 2016
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thank you Marie Shine for your beautiful comment and I do wish I could write fairy tales I love them so much and collect new ones all the time whenever I have money to buy used books of them (and even when I don't have money through God's grace) and I believe as much in them as when I was a child maybe even more and wish the world to be more and more stuffed with them and it would do them good and someday in the heavenly afterlife we will share strawberries and cream and high teas (whatever they are they must be even better in heaven) and laugh at all the troubles as if they never were. Blessings to you too and I wonder if H.C. Andersen is still making up new ones? ? ?