Beauty Floats Above In The Old Poems Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

Beauty floats above in the old poems.
made of clouds, pictures in the clouds
in the beleaguered galleries.

leaving the town at war.
old gossips hurling apple cores
after her.

it doesn't matter, really.
she'll turn into the apple trees
and laugh in the returning breeze

when April stirs.

or be the first thing you see
when you go home
after strange travels.

the thing you said you couldn't forfeit
if it came down to it.

mary angela douglas 5 november 2015