I SAW THE GHOST OF WALTER DE LA MARE

 

I saw the ghost of Walter de la mare

leaning, on an April curve of music,

unaware

I saw his hands of tender glass

and the thin china he was drinking from,

reflective, the dark raspberry still waters

of beauty he drew up in pailfuls-

the silver pooling stars

at his beck and call-

the curio cabinets bedizened,

strongholds of childhood jams

and the apricot laughter of the cherubim,

by his side.

 

now acorn cups half brim from twilight rain

the fairy feast’s abandoned, he complained

“Is there anybody there”?

he said, answering his own soul alone

“the whispering trees of Eden”,

he wept.

 

they pour the ocean into a thimble

our golden ships may founder in the Moss,

there are other losses,

song is made desolate, Walter de la mare

long years since your flag was

lowered to the ground,

marring with pearl

the semblances of Music

everafter.

 

rust from the muted region’s flaking.

your antique tears I brushed away,

no one’s watercolor, for so long.

mary angela douglas 20-21 december 2009