I'm going to read you a poem that I
like a great deal that you may have heard recently.
I understand James Wright was here.
And I liked it so much that I wrote a poem in tribute of it,
to it.
So let me read his very quickly first,
and then I'll read you a tribute to it.
It's called "Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy's Farm in Pine
Island, Minnesota."
"Over my head I see the bronze butterfly
asleep on the black trunk blowing
like a leaf in green shadow, down
the ravine behind the empty house,
the cowbells follow one another into the distances
of the afternoon.
To my right, and a field of sunlight between two pines,
the droppings of last year's horses
blaze up into golden stones.
I lean back as the evening darkens and comes on.
A chicken hawk floats over, heading for home.
I have wasted my life."