spanish poem

as i lie roofed in, screened in
my mother taught me that every night
why do
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
for these white arms about my neck
this is the song of youth
my son is dead and i am going blind
dark-eyed
i know what you're going to say
i make my shroud, but no one knows
i can not tell you now
lo! 'tis a gala night
i made a vow once, one only