life poetry

little gate was reached at last
gone before us
the ships are lying in the bay
i was a goddess ere the marble found me
perhaps it is no matter that you died
were it not for that singular smell
sweet with fern and rose
i have to say good-night
she limps with halting painful pace
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
earth travails
she said
through the broad earth's aching breast
tell me less or tell me more