narrative poetry

they threw a stone, you threw a stone
up from the south at break of day
let me move slowly through the street
there is an hour of peaceful rest
why then, must we see?
the stars fell from heaven
let a joy keep you
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
uplifting, as the wind blew
from song and dream for ever gone
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges