suicide poetry

under the harvest moon
short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it
see, from this counterfeit of him
i love my hour of wind and light
my mother taught me that every night
soft as the bed in the earth
wrap the earth in cloudy weather
to the passionate lover
i can not tell you now
there is no escape by the river
royal feast was done
there are three ways in which men take
lady, your heart has turned to dust