child poem

brief on a flying night
gone are the three, those sisters rare
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it
with joy and wonder
look back with longing eyes and know that i will follow
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
city that is not a city
the darkness
out of the sparkling sea
days endeared to every muse
one by one, like leaves from a tree
along a river-side