happy birthday poem

night was black and drear
in his guarded tent
come down at dawn from windless hills
when the wind works against us in the dark
though i am little as all little things
the darkness
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
gone before us
look back with longing eyes and know that i will follow
a bird sang
like eagles on up high
were it not for that singular smell
beneath my window in a city street