father poem

daughter, thou art come to die
she knows a cheap release
up from the south at break of day
it was many and many a year ago
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
perhaps it is no matter that you died
i heard the wind all day
simplicity
for these white arms about my neck
i reside at table mountain
above them all, looking down
they in the darkness gather and ask
if the red slayer think he slays
i have seen the proudest stars