pumpkin poem

noises that strive to tear
that strange companion came on shuffling feet
i love my hour of wind and light
over the river, on the hill
she might have known it in the earlier spring
perhaps
city that is not a city
beautiful, tragical faces
earth travails
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
there were three in the meadow by the brook
she has a clear, wind-sheltered loveliness
when you come tonight