The Blue Flowers Then; The Ballade Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

I was not thinking of the blue flowers then.

of the effect of moonlight through gauze clouds

of crystals of snow weaving through thin air


and dizzying like small tulle ballerinas.

of the curlicue frost I could make no translations

the moon in love with the white stones marking


the fairy tale way

I couldn't find the words to say for those who swept by

in particoloured dancing


you will think me vague, though I wasn't.

perhaps you were the snow child, you may have smiled.

the Princess who could not smile.


after a while I won't see through the haze

of how things were interpreted then.

I heard blue notes on a radiant piano;


I knew that it was Chopin.


mary angela douglas 25 june 2020