Ornithology in a World of Flux

It was only a bird call at evening, unidentified, 

As I came from the spring with water, across the rocky back-pasture; 

But I stood so still sky above was not stiller than sky in pail-water. 

Years pass, all places and faces fade, some people have died, 

And I stand in a far land, the evening still, and am at last sure 

That I miss more that stillness at bird-call than some things that were to fail later.