Willie

I stand by her grave, where praise be, I hope to be saved, tarred eyes like thunder, wine dark as the sea, love makes me shudder, it’s clear from the Nave, crooked in the lee, she has nothing left, here and there a cluster, Poplar trees, wave without lustre, my voice starts to break, it's late for the season, geese are well away, her face was a wonder, happy laughing sweet, that I tore asunder, it now opens for me.