poetry book

of sun nor stars
i make my shroud, but no one knows
pharaoh, king of egypt's land
let us pity those who are better off than we are
like eagles on up high
since i have felt the sense of death
over the river they beckon to me
there were three in the meadow by the brook
there was a time in former years
brief on a flying night
i loved a woman
lo! 'tis a gala night
passing through huddled and ugly walls