poetry in motion

under a spreading chestnut tree
blossoms of babies
who will be naming the wind
but alas, just dreams
mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
it was the autumn of the year
let us plant
there's one that i once loved so much
rocked in the cradle of the deep
beneath the warrior's helm
before the solemn bronze saint
as it
when sea-winds pierced our solitudes