friend poem

i loved a woman
up from the meadows rich with corn
the old songs
let us pity those who are better off than we are
it was the autumn of the year
i had over-prepared the event
often is it not so?
since i have felt the sense of death
my mother taught me that every night
stay no more
i go my way complacently
but i cannot read you now
i shall see a star tonight
i shake my hair in the wind of morning