short funny poem

when i was broke in london
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
do you hear the rain?
of sun nor stars
my mother taught me that every night
calm as that second summer
when i was a boy at college
eighty years have passed, and more
white foam flower, red flame flower
wheel me down by the meadow
my son is dead and i am going blind
this ancient silver bowl of mine
look back with longing eyes and know that i will follow
but alas, just dreams