lyric poem

old wine to drink
and how could you dream of meeting
up from the meadows rich with corn
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
still thirteen years
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
moonlight deep and tender
let us pity those who are better off than we are
the dawn was apple-green
let me be sad
out of the window a sea of green trees
in the dark and peace of my final bed