The Swan Of Tuonela Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

that sorrowful music passing like a dream

I heard when summer verged on autumn

for perhaps the last remembered time

in my father's house.

the swan, passing from existence

is in other realms now

it was then too

though I did not know the myth.

Just Sibelius, floating through no open window.

I would give anything to be on the trail of that music

as I was then

still among friends

with the slate from around that house in my pocket

its sunset colours for remembrance. as the amulet

to let me in.

how many layers it takes to paint a sunset

on the back of a risen wing.

mary angela douglas 4 october 2021