father poem

brief on a flying night
a mist was driving down
lo! 'tis a gala night
sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea
that year
the pale day drowses on the western steep
the arches of the red bridge
why do you always stand there shivering
i saw god. do you doubt it?
come down at dawn from windless hills
in your flight
which keeps
there is an hour of peaceful rest