The old brown hen and the old blue sky, <br />Between the two we live and die-- <br />The broken cartwheel on the hill. <br /> <br />As if, in the presence of the sea, <br />We dried our nets and mended sail <br />And talked of never-ending things, <br /> <br />Of the never-ending storm of will, <br />One will and many wills, and the wind, <br />Of many meanings in the leaves, <br /> <br />Brought down to one below the eaves, <br />Link, of that tempest, to the farm, <br />The chain of the turquoise hen and sky <br /> <br />And the wheel that broke as the cart went by. <br />It is not a voice that is under the eaves. <br />It is not speech, the sound we hear <br /> <br />In this conversation, but the sound <br />Of things and their motion: the other man, <br />A turquoise monster moving round.<br /><br />Wallace Stevens<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/continual-conversation-with-a-silent-man/
