child poem

there were three in the meadow by the brook
and how could you dream of meeting
night was black and drear
green afternoon serene and bright
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
lady, your heart has turned to dust
of sun nor stars
it tells of good old times
they may talk of love in a cottage
i have had one fear in my life
take my bracelets
are you alive?
the darkness