prose poetry

she limps with halting painful pace
gone are the three, those sisters rare
when the hours of day are numbered
there is an hour of peaceful rest
the darkness
long has the summer sunlight shone
my true love from her pillow rose
two rows of cabbages
in new york harbor
be patient, life, when love is at the gate
high walls and huge
over the river, on the hill
the air is full of dawn and spring