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[fifi-bonsai.livejournal.com]

Okay. I read a poem a long time ago about this guy who's just chilling on a hammock or some other reclining thing, maybe even a rocking chair, I think. I just had this image in my mind that he was. It's a really pleasant setting with nature and birds and the sky, that type of quiet poem where you think the author is trying to be Buddha and lull you to sleep. It's all contemplative and zen. Then at the end he says something about having wasted his life? It's jarring because the ambiance is so laid back and tranquil and then this sucker punch.

Thanks for any help finding it. Sry to be so vague.

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[echo-echo-echo.livejournal.com]

Lying In a Hammock at William Duffy's Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota
James Wright

Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly,
Asleep on the black trunk,
Blowing like a leaf in green shadow.
Down the ravine behind the empty house,
The cowbells follow one another
Into the distances of the afternoon.
To my right,
In a field of sunlight between two pines,
The droppings of last year's horses
Blaze up into golden stones.
I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on.
A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.
I have wasted my life.