sad poetry

she said
which keeps
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
the agony of having too much power
a storm is riding on the tide
perhaps
over the rooftops race the shadows of clouds
beautiful, tragical faces
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
one by one, like leaves from a tree
did you ever hear of
why do
so fallen
sing again the song you sung