Nightingale Iii: For Judy Collins Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

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Her voice still blooms now
late roses in the snow for the Spring cannot leave her
far less the nightingales for where would they go
We don't remember them even
In our poetry these days
When all that's wanted is to have your say prosaically
And in the loudest way
But music is not noise however earnest
Nor is it length of days
When In one instant it makes us shine beyond all time
Why wouldn't they flock to
her still the nightingales
To a love that did not change or as Shakespeare said
Bend with the remover to remove
Still the lilies of her songs in vast profusion
no sorrow prolong
rhere Music flows on: the honey of time
this high serenity
is not seasonal merely
now we know
suns rising or setting
each note commends
casting no harp aside
amid the willows
for much else besides is
caught In the rare tides of her singing
home, homeland
still not at their ebb
captivating, never captive.
mary angela douglas 5 november 2023