Elegy For Sinead O'connor Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

There is no grace like the white bird that rises
from the singer's throat, messenger of the soul
that arises when night is not yet finished
like a star, like a fragment of mist
I listen and listen and only tears flow
where the singer sings and the white bird rises
and the soul looks back, in parting wistful,
tenderly disconsolate
a little while and then at long last beholds
Forever.
mary angela douglas 19 january 2023