reading the angel bells on the wind,
the friends who have gone-
will you be staying for awhile,
or not for long?
tea leaves break in the cup
and the cup breaks too;
mirrors turn inward,
do they reflect
the pear ripe time
of you?
who will you be when the winds have gone
and the clouds are standing still;
what will you feel
as the light ticks down
and the train tracks stand revealed?
who is there even left to say
what you should take
when going away;
or even, how you should pack?
I chose a summer dress to wear
but a spring wind at my back.
you with no kerchief waving goodbye;
you, who look on with a jaundiced eye
(as was said in sentimental novels) -
what will you do when it's chimed away-
the dream that you thought
would be today's some say
grows dim,
upon leaving earth...
mary angela douglas 29 july 2016
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem