sad death poem

when freedom from her mountain height
it was the autumn of the year
sadly speaking
your body's motion is like music
renew the vision of delight
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
earth travails
the little white prayers
a few more windy days
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
be not false
rose and amber was the sunset on the river
some one complained to the master