sorry poem

in the dark and peace of my final bed
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
one by one, like leaves from a tree
melancholy days have come
there is no flock, however watched and tended
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
if it
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
i have cast the world
i am the wind that wavers
short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it