sympathy poem

if the red slayer think he slays
when i go back to earth
there was a time in former years
while i stood listening, discreetly dumb
the little white prayers
stay no more
and so it goes
the pale day drowses on the western steep
did you ever hear of
out of the sparkling sea
among the mountains i wandered
the hypocritic days
backward, turn backward
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue