Again I reply to the triple winds
running chromatic fifths of derision
outside my window:
Play louder.
You will not succeed. I am
bound more to my sentences
the more you batter at me
to follow you.
And the wind,
as before, fingers perfectly
its derisive music.
Public-domain source text
January
by William Carlos Williams
From Standard Ebooks · standardebooks/william-carlos-williams_poetry
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