Thinking of Auden, Late Winter

  

 

Time will say nothing but I told you so. 

I woke this morning to the cries of birds in snow. 

 

Out here in the cold I start to fly. 

I was a boy not long ago. 

 

A single note of an oboe comes–

its a friend’s voice after years.

 

Time will say nothing but I told you so. 

I woke this morning to the cries of birds in snow.

 

So many I’ve lost. Many haven’t returned. 

A single note of an oboe comes–

 

its a friend’s voice after years. 

Time will say nothing but I told you so.

 

Out here in the cold I start to fly. 

I was a boy not long ago.