sympathy poem

suddenly, out of dark and leafy ways
when the hours of day are numbered
tripping up, falling down
my soul is a dark ploughed field
out of the sparkling sea
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
up and down he goes
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
the shadows of the ships
i am the wind that wavers
softly weeping
those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars