lyric poetry

there was a time in former years
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
in september
out of the deep and the dark
wheel me down by the meadow
they may talk of love in a cottage
let us plant
little gate was reached at last
rocked in the cradle of the deep
to come so soon to this imagined dark
to clothe the fiery thought
in the dark and peace of my final bed