inspirational poem

so lost
from song and dream for ever gone
roses and gold
daughter, thou art come to die
who will be naming the wind
wrap the earth in cloudy weather
do not turn your head
let us pity those who are better off than we are
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
sleep sweetly in your humble graves
within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
over the rooftops race the shadows of clouds
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor