short funny poem

in his guarded tent
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
sun and wind and beat of sea
at midnight
and with the humming bird
the earth keeps some vibration going
the long resounding marble corridors
if i had known how narrow a prison is love
the swan existing
therefore i may not
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
over the river they beckon to me
mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam