back then we thought the emerald way
would always be ours
the golden hours of play
the witches few.
the curse lifted in the midnight tome
the Kingdom sparkle under a new moon.
how I have yearned for you,
lost fairy tale worlds
your silvered spinning-...
at every hour I must be winning back
and follow every track of, every trace
the grim have erased.
let the race be to the swift
and the lid be lifted on the miseries.
I only see blue fairied Hope
the ferry tothe green slopes of Avalon and
the King Returning, the end of wrongs
and hear: the vast, autumnal Airs-
the rubied orb of Song.
mary angela douglas 23 august 2018
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem