https://padlet.com/raquelpedro0/z2w854h5adtv Feito com um piscada de olho e um sorriso en-us 2017-05-01 22:23:56 UTC 2024-07-31 08:40:02 UTC hello@padlet.com https://padlet-assets.s3.amazonaws.com/icons/Apple.png raquelpedro0 https://padlet.com/raquelpedro0/z2w854h5adtv/wish/169299715 2017-05-01 22:36:56 UTC https://padlet.com/raquelpedro0/z2w854h5adtv/wish/169299715 raquelpedro0 https://padlet.com/raquelpedro0/z2w854h5adtv/wish/169299766 A bird that I don't know,
Hunched on his light-pole like a scarecrow,
Looks sideways out into the wheat
The wind waves under the waves of heat. 
The field is yellow as egg-bread dough
Except where (just as though they'd let
It live for looks) a locust billows
In leaf-green and shade-violet,
A standing mercy. 
The bird calls twice, "Red clay, red clay";
Or else he's saying, "Directly, directly. "
If someone came by I could ask,
Around here all of them must know — 
And why they live so and die so — 
Or why, for once, the lagging heron
Flaps from the little creek's parched cresses
Across the harsh-grassed, gullied meadow
To the black, rowed evergreens below. 
They know and they don't know. 
To ask, a man must be a stranger — 
And asking, much more answering, is dangerous;
Asked about it, who would not repent
Of all he ever did and never meant,
And think a life and its distresses,
Its random, clutched-for, homefelt blisses,
The circumstances of an accident? 
The farthest farmer in a field,
A gaunt plant grown, for seed, by farmers,
Has felt a longing, lorn urbanity
Jailed in his breast; and, just as I,
Has grunted, in his old perplexity,
A standing plea. 
From the tar of the blazing square
The eyes shift, in their taciturn
And unavowing, unavailable sorrow. 
Yet the intonation of a name confesses
Some secrets that they never meant
To let out to a soul; and what words would not dim
The bowed and weathered heads above the denim
Or the once-too-often washed wash dresses? 
They are subdued to their own element. 
One day
The red, clay face
Is lowered to the naked clay;
After some words, the body is forsaken
The shadows lengthen, and a dreaming hope
Breathes, from the vague mound, Life;
From the grove under the spire
Stars shine, and a wandering light
Is kindled for the mourner, man. 
The angel kneeling with the wreath
Sees, in the moonlight, graves.

]]> 2017-05-01 22:37:30 UTC https://padlet.com/raquelpedro0/z2w854h5adtv/wish/169299766 raquelpedro0 https://padlet.com/raquelpedro0/z2w854h5adtv/wish/169305609 2017-05-01 23:50:18 UTC https://padlet.com/raquelpedro0/z2w854h5adtv/wish/169305609 raquelpedro0 https://padlet.com/raquelpedro0/z2w854h5adtv/wish/169305671 2017-05-01 23:51:04 UTC https://padlet.com/raquelpedro0/z2w854h5adtv/wish/169305671