grandmother poem

the stars fell from heaven
she heard the children playing in the sun
there is no escape by the river
a sky that has never known sun, moon or stars
burly, dozing humble-bee
with lips blood red and heart of stone
this is the arsenal
all those treasures that lie
do not turn your head
god
with the meek, brown eyes
let us pity those who are better off than we are
since i have felt the sense of death
my mother twines me roses wet with dew