dry sticks in the wind,
how have they made this from your music?
I can't pretend to like them for it.
once the skies were ours
the rainbow gleaming dome
and the multifaceted shone
even in a single dewdrop
and the blown rose.
but they have bundled you off
to the ragmen of the soul
for pennies on the dollar
I never owned.
what's owning for
if you lose this?
what will you tell your children's children
when they come to find
the trees stripped bare in summers
in a world of care,
I would ask them if I thought
they could listen and, if, I dared.
let the sere winds blow the betrayals away.
God speaks still in the solitary ear
unquenchable gold and always,
glistening
mary angela douglas 22 september 2014