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Ornithology in a World of Flux
Robert Penn Warren
It was only a bird call at evening,unidentified,
As I came from the spring with water,across the rocky back-pasture;
But I stood so still sky above was not stiller than sky in pail-water.
Years pass,all places and faces fade,some people have died,
And I stand in a far land,the evening still,and am at last sure
That I miss more that stillness at bird-call than some things that were to fail later