friendship poem

my son is dead and i am going blind
and with the humming bird
when i go back to earth
one with you
come down at dawn from windless hills
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
listen to the sounding sea
uplifting, as the wind blew
let a joy keep you
when night drifts along the streets of the city
gone are the three, those sisters rare