mother poem

sweet splendor
with joy and wonder
and as we walked the grass was faintly stirred
in the dark and peace of my final bed
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
when the wind works against us in the dark
uplifting, as the wind blew
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
will you glimmer on the sea?
i have seen the proudest stars
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor