your face is a flower too often lost
in the ribald world.
blossoming where
in the darkening air
and clouds pass over it,
and streams of light
shadows of leaves, unseen
angels.
your face a flower between
scene and scene
played upon by fools.
your face with its music
not for their amusement made.
your face a coolness
in the shade
varies like star from star
sways slightly on its stem.
does not bow down
to them.
mary angela douglas 23 october 2015
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem