family poetry

she limps with halting painful pace
in the cloud-gray mornings
in may
the air is like a butterfly
do the boys and girls still go
for then without
in the dark and peace of my final bed
over the rooftops race the shadows of clouds
birds against the april wind
through the broad earth's aching breast
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
shades of night were falling fast
be patient, life, when love is at the gate
when freedom from her mountain height