This And The Thimbles Scattered Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

this, and the thimbles scattered

the ones of gold

with the Princess seamstress gone gathering

small mushrooms after the rains

I remember;

we marveled at her marble cake

the bakery made

could she return?

where the traffic stilled.

the raspberry sun

upon our childish once upons.

now the moon has gathered

her ivory flowers in:

our Grandmother's folded fans

will I recognize your shadow in Heaven

so that I do not sln,

missing the cue of "Rumplestilskin; "

slipping

on polished stairs in a fine gown;

short of the railing

strawberries, cream in an opal dish

oh I wish, I wished, closing my eyes

splashing the angelic.

no one wanted to ruin The Play

to be the one at fault in The Ballet

drawing the curtains;

out of tune with the day, with singing Everywhere.

my thought is a spindle in the wind

it has that quality unwinding

this again and the thimbles scattered

no more patchwork

no more pincushion moon;

valentine saints with the arrows through

she just Was

no more the brightness of thread

which to choose

the where to begin in the musical measure

which riddle to shine

embroidered in time

she never said

when spooning the honey

on our bread.

just God is the Flower that does not fade;

be good, not clever.

in any weather.

you aren't sugar; you won't melt.

mary angela douglas 4 may 2019