lyric poetry

musing, between the sunset and the dark
the old west, the old time
sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea
with the meek, brown eyes
there are three ways in which men take
day is done
grieve not for the invisible
thou unrelenting past
do not grieve that it is over
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
under a spreading chestnut tree
it was the autumn of the year
winged shadows sweeping by