anniversary poetry

i know what you're going to say
a flying word from here and there
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
for truth, for love
often is it not so?
a storm is riding on the tide
there was a strangeness on your lips
i gazed upon the glorious sky
just as my fingers on these keys
roses and gold
in the cloud-gray mornings
beautiful, tragical faces