It Is Better... Poem by robert dickerson

It is better to make way than to take way
say the soft clouds, they say,
'it is better to rake hay than to make hay-
Come away my way;
Birds another and another follow
in a wide-careering flight
until the sky's alive with each last swallow
greeting and welcoming the night,
for they cannot sleep until they pass this rite;
Spring follows Winter, Summer, Fall-
The sky is wide-by God, there is room for all-
still they cry out loud and still they call
over the sun-struck, undulating bay:
'deniz, deniz, blow pretty breeze'.