I renounce the blind­ness of the mag­a­zines.
I want to lie down under a tree.
This is the only duty that is not death.
This is the ever­last­ing hap­pi­ness
Of small winds.
Sud­denly,
A pheas­ant flut­ters, and I turn
Only to see him van­ish­ing at the damp edge
Of the road.

- James Wright