friend poem

woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me
i saw with open eyes
to what shall a woman liken her beloved
sleep, gray brother of death
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
muffled drum's sad roll has beat
the earth keeps some vibration going
it tells of good old times
there is a country full of wine
noises that strive to tear
the darkness rolls upward
and still they walked on
the hypocritic days
one sweetly solemn thought