poem

let me be sad
still thirteen years
the mountains they are silent folk
pushing out, struggling vainly
there is no escape by the river
softly now the light of day
she might have known it in the earlier spring
but alas, just dreams
rising moon has hid the stars
in and of itself
love has been sung a thousand ways
there is no flock, however watched and tended
a thin gray shadow on the edge of thought