The New Song
by W. S. Merwin
(encountered this evening, the last Saturday of 2011, in The New Yorker of 12 December 2011)
For some time I thought there was time
and that there would always be time
for what I had a mind to do
and what I could imagine
going back to and finding it
as I had found it the first time
but by this time I do not know
what I thought when I thought back then
there is no time yet it grows less
there is the sound of rain at night
arriving unknown in the leaves
once without before or after
then I hear the thrush waking
at daybreak singing the new song
* * * * *
I read that poem and I think, How true that is. How true.
Thank you, W. S. Merwin.
Stay tuned.
Kanlaon 