Love in the Country



by William Stafford



We live like this: no one but

some of the owls awake, and of them

only near ones really awake.



In the rain yesterday, puddles

on the walk to the barn sounded their

quick little drinks.



The edge of the haymow, all

soaked in moonlight,

dreams out there like silver music.



Are there farms like this where

no one likes to live?

And the sky going everywhere?



While the earth breaks the soft horizon

eastward, we study how to deserve

what has already been given us.


please note: photo by Henk de Boer

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