mary douglas

The Snow Maid Dreams Of An Impressionists' Spring, A Few White Violets

I'm fading from the world, the snow maid glistened
her words in paragraphs of clouds suspended listening.
no more winter concerts under the nebulae.

it's not so hard to melt when you know why
you're dwindling into pastels, in spite of everything
I'm fading for the world so there'll be Spring

and rivulets that run by banked up flowers.
remember me when the trees rain down white hours
on the pavements, drifting in flowered heaps before you,

when you walk to the Great Museums.

mary angela douglas 19 june 2014

Submitted: Sunday, August 24, 2014

Topic of this poem: Winter

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