son poem

when i go back to earth
no prey am i of poor thoughts
her face is fair and smooth and fine
as a white candle
she heard the children playing in the sun
there were three in the meadow by the brook
in september
gaily through the fields we danced
there by the window in the old house
burly, dozing humble-bee
winged shadows sweeping by
shadows lay along broadway
i stand in the cold gray weather
my mother taught me that every night