Wind Song

LONG ago I learned how to sleep,

In an old apple orchard where the wind swept by counting its money and throwing it away,

In a wind-gaunt orchard where the limbs forked out and listened or never listened at all,

In a passel of trees where the branches trapped the wind into whistling,  'Who, who are you?'

I slept with my head in an elbow on a summer afternoon and there I took a sleep lesson.

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