break up poem

have you seen walking through the village
she must go back, she said
rocked in the cradle of the deep
her face is fair and smooth and fine
some one complained to the master
if the red slayer think he slays
old wine to drink
in the dark and peace of my final bed
i went up and down the streets
eighty years have passed, and more
i do not pray for peace
two rows of cabbages
i made a vow once, one only
in and of itself