Again I reply to the triple winds
running chromatic fifths of derision
outside my window:
You will not succeed. I am
bound more to my sentences
the more you batter at me
to follow you.
And the wind,
as before, fingers perfectly
its derisive music.
William Carlos Williams, 1883-1963
This poem is in the public domain
Photo by Alessio Soggetti on Unsplash