The Counsel Of The Dead

The summer rays are cleaving
The green among the headstones;
I seek you out for counsel
For I have lost my light –

But there in silence, seething
I’m tossed about like red bones;
And I gain not an ounce until
I wander home at night

I do not hear you scold me
Nor fears, will you allay them:
For few the words you told me
When you were here
To say them

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