Fleeting Conversation With The Snow Child Poem by Mary Angela Douglas
Fleeting Conversation With The Snow Child
to my mother, Mary Adalyn Young-Douglas, in memory of...
I am the clock that's made of stars
she faintly smiled but I didn't understand
the cupboard with myriad jams asleep
the sing-song sung, the quiet sweep of hands
round the face of the moon the snows
that go, they will go and you won't
expect them to.
I wondered.
then it was spring.
mary angela douglas 10 march 2015
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
3/15/2026 1:56:32 AM # 1.0.0
