Poem: Black Angel In The Park
BLACK ANGEL in the PARK
By Zena Mabbs
Winged bride; saluting the dead.
Immobilised for one hundred years.
Your cold heart feels no summer warmth.
Unseeing eyes fail to absorb the perennial spring confetti.
You cannot touch the butterflies of multi-culturalism
As they taste the nectar amongst the worn pathways,
Or hear new voices as they play.
You were here before their birth.
Only the wind kisses the chiselled names on the stones beneath your feet.
Want to win a Sprout T-shirt? Fill in theSprout Satisfaction Survey!
Image Source: Grangetown Local History Society direct communication