sad love poem

and breaketh bread no more
when the veil from the eyes is lifted
why are the things that have no death
royal feast was done
softly weeping
blossoms of babies
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
the meadow was creeping
sleep, gray brother of death
when i returned at sunset
at dawn, he said
for these white arms about my neck
had he and i but met
softly now the light of day