sad death poem

all my love for my sweet
now that i have cooled to you
i despise my friends more than you
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
arched the flood
gaily through the fields we danced
within my hand i hold
there is no flock, however watched and tended
tell me not
i walk down the garden paths
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens