mother poem

there is a country full of wine
i cannot always feel his greatness
over the river, on the hill
melancholy, blue it was
there is no flock, however watched and tended
she has a clear, wind-sheltered loveliness
long ago, in the young moonlight
those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars
daughters of time
i shall see a star tonight
with joy and wonder
do you hear the rain?
since i have felt the sense of death