The sails go round, the windmill spins—
As if to gather whisper-things.
I watched and thought: what stories stay
When wind has swept the words away?
From A Poem A Day: All Continental Europe


The sails go round, the windmill spins—
As if to gather whisper-things.
I watched and thought: what stories stay
When wind has swept the words away?
From A Poem A Day: All Continental Europe

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