Morning Coffee #4

Where the author pretentiously post a poem he enjoys.

AFTER THE SPRING

The first hay is in and all at once
in the silent evening summer has come
knowing the place wholly the green skin
of its hidden slopes where the shadows will
never reach so far again and a few
gray hairs motionless high in the late
sunlight tell of rain before morning
and of finding the daybreak under green
water with no shadows but all still the same
still known still the known faces of summer
faces of water turning into themselves
changing without a word into themselves

— W.S. Merwin, from Travels (Knopf, 1993),