Alice, in her new, red-hooded coat,
late afternoon in spring-and-sunlight garden,
watches bubbles float a hundred rainbows
round her head. And she has endless time
for ants, the shiny scribblings of snails,
the chalky trails of aeroplanes,
and all the bright eternities she finds
in pebbles on the gravel path.
Alice sees the world turn slow.
If she had words, she’d let her Grandma know
this April day will never end.
says the world spins fast,
and bubbles burst. She talks of shadows
racing through the woods; something
out there, knocking at her door.