haiku poem

hang no wreath
let us pity those who are better off than we are
i cannot always feel his greatness
in may
beneath my window in a city street
before the solemn bronze saint
when i go back to earth
sweet splendor
under a spreading chestnut tree
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
it was a tall young oysterman
darkest, strangest mystery
as evening falls