narrative poetry

now for a brisk and cheerful fight
for these white arms about my neck
one by one, like leaves from a tree
gaily through the fields we danced
i gazed upon the glorious sky
why then, must we see?
there by the window in the old house
braided and woven
this is the song of youth
let me move slowly through the street
the swan existing
when you come tonight
beneath my window in a city street