it's just breadcrumbs under moonlight-
but fear is swallowed up
by the bravery of children on their own
now it's white stones
no birds would want
and the moon is less bright-
but I hear their frail footfall
how I recognize the sound-
like the blind
reminding my face of Light
in the dark woods
mary angela douglas 25 october 2005
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem