friend poem

he's gone
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
awful truths these be
master of human destinies am i
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
where shall i find you
in an old chamber softly lit
tell me
there is a country full of wine
i am the wind that wavers
though i am little as all little things
i've won the race
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies