suicide poem

glass-blower of time
i bid them all farewell
the old songs
stern cold man
sadly speaking
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
all down the years
there were three in the meadow by the brook
often i think of the beautiful town
those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars
do not grieve that it is over
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
in new york harbor
when i looked into your eyes