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Ducks in a daze with mourning doves--
Sweetness of the hay fresh mown, the clouds
Slowly stacking, the constant
Revectoring of flocks among weeds,
A dampness to northern aspects of fields
Slanting toward the river, workmen
Silent, workwomen finding shade, what remains
Of harvest not mattering as one thing bears down
Upon the other--some wind in ornamental trees,
The waxy mane of the whitest mare, whitest
From the oncoming weather-light, the foal
That does not shy from the hand that gelded it.
Related Subjects
Poetry