poem

the dawn was apple-green
sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea
now while my lips are living
that strange companion came on shuffling feet
the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
along a river-side
night is dark, and the winter winds
up from the south at break of day
city that is not a city
daughters of time
this is the song of youth
there is no flock, however watched and tended
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
be patient, life, when love is at the gate