Now has come, an easy time. I let it 
roll. There is a lake somewhere 
so blue and far nobody owns it. 
A wind comes by and a willow listens 
gracefully. 
I hear all this, every summer. I laugh 
and cry for every turn of the world, 
its terribly cold, innocent spin. 
That lake stays blue and free; it goes 
on and on. 

And I know where it is.