funny poetry

there was never a sound beside the wood but one
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
she knows a cheap release
in the dark and peace of my final bed
rose and amber was the sunset on the river
are you alive?
see, they return
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
old wine to drink