On a far hill I brood, Weeping, tear bound, Hesitant, rude. I am moody In a gold gown, Tinkling in scarlet Up and down. I am gaudy Whose heart must break; All is given me -- Nothing I take. I who am harvest Am bereft; Pride and glory, These are left. I am bouquet. Of the gone before; I am color, Nothing more. I am parade, A flash of light Crimsoning once Before death, the night. I am fillip At summer's close; My rains weep All seasons' woes. I am bitterness In a gay dress -- Crying out forever For a last caress. |