Mary Poem by Des Agos

They catch a bassoon on Easter Sunday
a bundle soaked in the waters of the lake,
know where the hills of nettle.

And 'emerged as a rag soaked lifeless
no name, only her blond hair
be floating like a jellyfish
adrift in the sea of ​ ​ death.

Mary: This is your name,
you grew up in Cherry Valley
and the smiles of white flowers,
you are only mates butterflies
and your dream girl.

But, this spell will no longer enough,
you your age
Go flying with the mind,
You left the smell of hay and your lawns,
did you go to sell kisses
and the skin of your twenty years.

Start there lifeless,
between the snowflakes fall
tears as a white
like flowers and ice cream of your cherry.
Mary is your dream that is erased.