baby poem

there is no flock, however watched and tended
she must go back, she said
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
the fragrance came
all down the years
long ago, in the young moonlight
quietly, with reverance, in awe
come down at dawn from windless hills
we lay
these be
three years ago today
rocked in the cradle of the deep
out of the deep and the dark