William Stafford: Всі вірші поета

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This is the field where the battle did not happen,

where the unknown soldier did not die.

This is the field where grass joined hands,

where no monument stands,

and the only heroic thing is the sky.

Birds fly here without any sound,

unfolding their wings across the open.

No people killed – or were killed – on this ground

Tomorrow will have an island. Before night

I always find it. Then on to the next island.

These places hidden in the day separate

and come forward if you beckon.

But you have to know they are there before they exist.

Some time there will be a tomorrow without any island.

So far, I haven't let that happen, but after

I'm gone others may become faithless and careless.