Let us be happy for Beauty itself
Even when it eludes us
Even when it settles, far snows or flowering plum
And unattainably glistens
And sings and sings
While we grow mute
Then let us sing silence,
Let us sing pre language
Feathering its nest
With slow syllables
Crystalized into the honeycomb.
mary angela douglas 20 april 2024
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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