POEMS NEVER DIE

This poem just came back to me this morning, eventhough it has been over a decade since I read and discussed it in a college classroom. I wonder why poems stay, and why they spring back to the forefront of your mind?

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.