(no subject)

[deathmongoose]

yeah, apparently we read this poem in lit

and i don't remember it, but it's great anyway:

to a weathercock

I too am moved by passing winds
Spun mockingly upon one stand
Where all flight ends where it begins.

Strange breezes from a distant land
Have called me, too, and I have turned
And turned and could not understand.

Beneath each season's sun I've burned
With you, and watched freed wings depart
for dreamed-of-places where I've yearned

To go. Do these things touch your heart?
I've seen you fret on windless days,
felt more than metal in your art.

And I have pondered on the ways
Of man and God that so confound
And I have heard you turning round
Sounding the grief I could not phrase.

-raymond patterson