grandma poem

why then, must we see?
those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars
as it
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
white foam flower, red flame flower
the old west, the old time
above them all, looking down
with her hair flaying wildly
within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
once this soft turf
we lay
woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me
skies they were ashen and sober
i have known the silence of the stars and of the sea