A Haughty Road, and Sing a Song of Peace

I am from a wood worn cabin
Where the old man Imagination lives
I am from the cloudless sky,
            Which I painted with a bristled brush
from the weeping trees, mist, Rosemary
scent before
Snow

I am from a crumbling gate,
A haughty-looking road
            Overbearing from use
Where my thoughts were bought,
Where the yonder,
always lost

I am from a meadow
The grass will never end
And the trees there-they rustle,
As they sing a song...
of Peace