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This poem is taken from PN Review 31, Volume 9 Number 5, May - June 1983.

Whip-poor-will Donald Hall

Every night about nine-o'clock, when the last light of June
goes in the West, the whip-poor-will sings
beside the darkening house his clear brief notes,
repeating himself, then rises abruptly
from sandy ground, a brown
bird in the near-night, soaring over shed and woodshed
to far dark fields.
                  When he returns with the light,
...


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