best friend poem

when i returned at sunset
i stand in the cold gray weather
and my name is truthful
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
the pale day drowses on the western steep
the darkness
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
once this soft turf
skies they were ashen and sober
when i looked into your eyes
perhaps
it was the autumn of the year
friend, whose smile has come to be
sad are they who know not love