poetry poem

once this soft turf
i bid them all farewell
there is no flock, however watched and tended
shadows lay along broadway
a thin gray shadow on the edge of thought
with the meek, brown eyes
i stand in the cold gray weather
long has the summer sunlight shone
it was the autumn of the year
my mother taught me that every night
eighty years have passed, and more
in the dark and peace of my final bed
the darkness
melancholy, blue it was