I'm fading from the world, the snow maid
glistened
her words in paragraphs of clouds suspended
listening.
no more winter concerts under the nebulae.
it's not so hard to melt when you know why
you're dwindling into pastels, in spite of
everything
I'm fading for the world so there'll be Spring
and rivulets that run by banked up flowers.
remember me when the trees rain down white
hours
on the pavements, drifting in flowered heaps
before you,
when you walk to the Great Museums.
mary angela douglas 19 june 2014
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