The Tree Of Language And Its Canciones Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

the tree of language bent so silverly down
when I was small.
oh I'm so glad you came I said

thinking it could always be this way.
have some of the golden deliciousness

it sighed as if from olden days.
and there are other regions, clouds
they said to me pink tinted

and these are yours and when the moon
slip stitches beyond jeweled branches
and you think she's gone, , ,

that feeling...and then,
the Aprils...

oh words that I knew then seemed plentiful
plucked in dreams and cherry bedight
as if we would never grow tired of

learning them in our

sleep says the tree of language now
and almost, lullaby, and almost
it is near, it is near when the wind soughs,

fear not.
fear-

not.

mary angela douglas 16 june 2015; 11 march 2016