funeral poem

three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
tripping up, falling down
a sky that has never known sun, moon or stars
in mournful numbers
but alas, just dreams
the earth keeps some vibration going
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
why so sad my lovely one?
beneath the warrior's helm
in halls of sleep you wandered by
sun stepped down from his golden throne
do the boys and girls still go
to come so soon to this imagined dark
do not grieve that it is over