sad poetry

among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
a little peach in the orchard grew
there were three in the meadow by the brook
some of the hurts you have cured
if the red slayer think he slays
one by one, like leaves from a tree
i love the old melodious lays
among the mountains i wandered
it was the autumn of the year
let me move slowly through the street
beneath the warrior's helm
i have come into the desert because my soul is athirst
to clothe the fiery thought
a bird sang