baby shower poem

in the cloud-gray mornings
not from the whole wide world
in september
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
renew the vision of delight
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
there is a city, builded by no hand
long ago, in the young moonlight
a thin gray shadow on the edge of thought
soft as the bed in the earth
no prey am i of poor thoughts
how like the stars are these white, nameless faces
in your flight