son poem

i was a goddess ere the marble found me
what spiteful chance steals unawares
the air is full of dawn and spring
the saddest of the year
there by the window in the old house
in his guarded tent
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
master of human destinies am i
here falls no light
which keeps
the little white prayers
i am singing to you
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale