The Poem

It discovers by night
what the day hid from it.
Sometimes it turns itself
into an animal.
In summer it takes long walks
by itself where meadows
fold back from ditches.
Once it stood still
in a quiet row of machines.
Who knows
what it is thinking?




"The Poem" by Donald Hall from Old and New Poems. Copyright © 1990 by Donald Hall. Reprinted with the permission of the author.