The valley

From the High mountain, looking over
the valley is very low
Very low, so flows, the river to the sea.
The heights the birds attain, looking with sober,
eyes that know
where the wind blows, the silver and teal.
The winds that strain, to eat clover,
from the lamb that lowes
Why is it so, when Death does not heal.
The spirits may rest with thin cover
Intact, commiserating wholy
No holes or fire to steal.
The fear of entering Hades, never
in event if ever.
,slow
Do not go, even if they show the lea.
Take not, except when given by Lovers
-the gift like gold
,Every way and know, like grain and wheel.
The way through the pain, with Mother
young girl who sews
Father who sows, the rows with seed.
Honey and water
make mead. Thirst the need to slough
On the cruel sea
of loneliness
.