baby poem

wrap the earth in cloudy weather
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
all within and all without me
short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it
afraid no more, i say
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
we were not many
we who stood
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
of sun nor stars
a thin gray shadow on the edge of thought