sad poetry

the air is like a butterfly
babylon-where i go dreaming
into the silent land
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
this is the arsenal
it tells of good old times
which keeps
muffled drum's sad roll has beat
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
suddenly, out of dark and leafy ways
green afternoon serene and bright
i saw you hunched and shivering on the stones
under a spreading chestnut tree