life poetry

my mother twines me roses wet with dew
before the solemn bronze saint
i saw him once before
up and down he goes
the ships are lying in the bay
i have to say good-night
and my name is truthful
the air is full of dawn and spring
grieve not for the invisible
it was the autumn of the year
that strange companion came on shuffling feet
she must go back, she said
they threw a stone, you threw a stone