Carthy

I stand by her grave, where praise be, I hope to be saved, my eyes like thunder, wine dark like the sea, it makes me shudder, from the blue Nave, stooped in the lee, she had nothing left, here and there a cluster, of poplar trees, they neither wave nor linger, my voice starts to break, it's late for the season, geese fly away, her face is the wonder, happy laughing sweet, that I tore asunder, it's quiet in this place, my place of need, I ask for the space, left open for me.