[to my mother, Mary Adalyn Young-Douglas]
never sand flowed through her hours, but only gold
I told the small roses when she had gone
as they say, on to her reward
despite her desert precints and the need I felt
to cry out to all and sundry, but she is still alive!
institutions thrive
on the Soul buried up to its neck.
but you were decked with invisible jewels
the way your children thought of you
and glittering in the hallways
where the others down at heel
forgot themselves, and shuffled in between
their severals worlds. severed.
forget me nots forget me nots!
true blue violet colours I would scatter
in your wake
the heart breaking, breaking like crystal
that you are gone.
mary angela douglas 13 january 2016
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
In to her reward! Nice dedication. Thanks for sharing.