child poetry

sun and wind and beat of sea
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
in your arms was still delight
there is an hour of peaceful rest
my mother taught me that every night
i walk down the garden paths
when the hours of day are numbered
softly weeping
little gate was reached at last
when the wind works against us in the dark
the body may confine
the stars fell from heaven
weak-winged is song
i have seen the proudest stars