autumn poetry

i burn no incense
she might have known it in the earlier spring
these be
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
they may talk of love in a cottage
grieve not for the invisible
no prey am i of poor thoughts
truely
they threw a stone, you threw a stone
tell me not
city that is not a city
she heard the children playing in the sun
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
let a joy keep you