Sleeping in the Grass

The clouds'll glide
if they can.
The birds'll fly
and then descend.

They sweep the Earth,
perch the fence.
They sing their songs
then and again.

Where is the end?

The widows sleep
alone in bed,
While the willows weep;
but God's with them.

They're gone with all their things.
They're dead.
Their secrets keep
Themselves instead.