friend poetry

perhaps
my true love from her pillow rose
star-dust and vaporous light
a little peach in the orchard grew
i make my shroud, but no one knows
in all things not spoken of
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
in the cloud-gray mornings
see i give myself to you
rose and amber was the sunset on the river
they ask me where i've been
gaily through the fields we danced
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise