poem for pastors

green afternoon serene and bright
she has a clear, wind-sheltered loveliness
into the silent land
the mountains they are silent folk
in september
in all things not spoken of
up from the south at break of day
desolate and lone
daughter, thou art come to die
what spiteful chance steals unawares
there was a strangeness on your lips
the poets tell
i love to steal awhile away
as evening falls