type of poetry

there were three in the meadow by the brook
the old west, the old time
the single clenched fist lifted and ready
never in all my life
the light withdrawn
why do you always stand there shivering
for truth, for love
often i think of the beautiful town
what was it the engines said
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
are you awake?
for these white arms about my neck