kid poem

softly now the light of day
high walls and huge
in september
skies they were ashen and sober
do you remember
weak-winged is song
there by the window in the old house
the rain was over, and the brilliant air
we who stood
woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me
the mountains they are silent folk
though i am little as all little things
and still they walked on
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon