sympathy poem

for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
i walk down the garden paths
the mountains they are silent folk
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
since, if you stood by my side today
rocked in the cradle of the deep
in mournful numbers
this is the song of youth
with the meek, brown eyes
there is no flock, however watched and tended
city that is not a city