In winter
all the singing is in
the tops of the trees
where the wind-bird
with its white eyes
shoves and pushes
among the branches
Like any of us
he wants to go to sleep,
but he's restless--
he has an idea,
and slowly it unfolds
from under his beating wings
Mary Oliver, excerpt from poem White-Eyes
all the singing is in
the tops of the trees
where the wind-bird
with its white eyes
shoves and pushes
among the branches
Like any of us
he wants to go to sleep,
but he's restless--
he has an idea,
and slowly it unfolds
from under his beating wings
Mary Oliver, excerpt from poem White-Eyes