funny poetry

eighty years have passed, and more
with the meek, brown eyes
here falls no light
glass-blower of time
at midnight
i stood by the open casement
in all things not spoken of
among the mountains i wandered
we break the glass whose sacred wine
some of the hurts you have cured
the light withdrawn
under the harvest moon
to what shall a woman liken her beloved
sweet with fern and rose