Poem by W.S. Merwin
Night when the south wind wakes the owl
and the owl says it is summer
now it is time to be summer
it is time for that departure
though the blanket dates from childhood
it is time whoever you are
to be going they are older
every one of them there is spring
no longer this is the south wind
you have heard about that brings rain
taking away roofs with a breath
and a season of grapes in one
blind unpredictable moment
of hail this is the white wind that
you cannot believe here it is
and the owl sails out to see whose
turn it is tonight to be changed
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