poetry form

two rows of cabbages
what was it the engines said
melancholy days have come
be in me as the eternal moods
as a naked man i go
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
my son is dead and i am going blind
i saw you hunched and shivering on the stones
shades of night were falling fast
give me
perhaps it is no matter that you died
lived by the river-side
sleep sweetly in your humble graves