friendship poem

why are the things that have no death
this is the song of youth
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
now that i have cooled to you
soft as the bed in the earth
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
the air is full of dawn and spring
why do you always stand there shivering
there were three in the meadow by the brook
do you hear the rain?
along a river-side
brief on a flying night
world that changes under my hand