fall poetry

burly, dozing humble-bee
tell me less or tell me more
glass-blower of time
i am old and blind
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
still thirteen years
sleep, gray brother of death
let us pity those who are better off than we are
as it
stuff of the moon
the hypocritic days
when a deed is done for freedom
your body's motion is like music
lived by the river-side