The Slightest Thing On Hand Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

THE SLIGHTEST THING ON HAND
small as the fairy is, she bides her time
though Time seems a thing most vast
collecting rainwater in a thimble
to make provisions last
feasting on one wild raspberry the winter through.
and though her house is barely thatched
she will make do
with a coats and clark thread of sapphire blue
stitching the porches down
so what if you cant hear a sound
she plays the flute in any weather
and the sparrows understand
small music, muses matter
the slightest thing on hand.

mary angela douglas 26 october 2020