children came across them first
pink and starred with dew
and bent down entranced
to see their reticent sparkle
as if they knew they were made
for them
lemon butterflies dart near
it is clear it was clear to me then
this was the playhouse of outdoors
the azure ceiling
the sprigged grass
the trees arching over
a lake of glass
and pine cones scattered
where nothing else mattered.
and then the picture books,
with their may apples.
and clouds would pass
like fleece of angels
time, what was time then.
coming across wild violets
on the walk from school
and the violets understood
who we were too.
in their small dignity enwrapped,
enrapturing
and perfumes.
and everything after the rains
making us silver inside
as if we were made of stars
and we were.
we are.
mary angela douglas 2 september 2019
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