romantic poem

that year
full of tears
among the mountains i wandered
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
thoughts through my head
look out upon the stars, my love
when the hours of day are numbered
daughter, thou art come to die
simply speaking
little gate was reached at last
the mountains they are silent folk
the meadow was creeping
who is the runner in the skies
sad are they who know not love