poem

there are gains for all our losses
did you ever hear of
death's nobility again
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
my soul is a dark ploughed field
not from the whole wide world
sun stepped down from his golden throne
at midnight
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
i am singing to you
why do
they ask me where i've been
a bird sang
sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea