writing poetry

sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea
love has been sung a thousand ways
had he and i but met
to come so soon to this imagined dark
what was it the engines said
your body's motion is like music
up and down he goes
sleep sweetly in your humble graves
i heard the wind all day
since i have felt the sense of death
while i stood listening, discreetly dumb
once this soft turf
tell me not