sad poem

though i am little as all little things
to what shall a woman liken her beloved
over the river, on the hill
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
you are clear
by the shore, by the sea
short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it
gingham dog and the calico cat
in your arms was still delight
it was the autumn of the year
still her gray rocks tower above the sea