wrecked gold of the far illuminations
is coming home
and moonlight sunk in
its own mirrors helplessly
I find forever
in the glazed word you speak.
but april blossoms on the wall
when you bind your luckless
and you wound nothing.
imprint this with a spendthrift's sigh
with the knowledge that every colour breathes
the rose you gathered as if it were
from very Light.
mary angela douglas 31 august 2011
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem