friend poem

if it
my son is dead and i am going blind
over the river, on the hill
it was many and many a year ago
lo! 'tis a gala night
the air is full of dawn and spring
musing, between the sunset and the dark
i see all human wits
high-born race
i know not where
the sky
and as we walked the grass was faintly stirred
i am old and blind