birthday poem

let us plant
two rows of cabbages
long has the summer sunlight shone
through the broad earth's aching breast
in mournful numbers
while i stood listening, discreetly dumb
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
this ancient silver bowl of mine
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
the ancient songs
when sea-winds pierced our solitudes
long ago, in the young moonlight
perhaps