String Quartet

Long ago I learned how to sleep,	
In an old apple orchard where the wind swept by 
counting its money and throwing it away,
In a wind-gaunt orchard where the limbs forked out 
and listened or never listened at all,
In a passel of trees where the branches 
trapped the wind into whistling, "Who, who are you?"
I slept with my head in an elbow on a summer afternoon 
and there I took a sleep lesson.
There I went away saying: I know why they sleep, 
I know how they trap the tricky winds.
Long ago I learned how to listen to the singing wind 
and how to forget and how to hear the deep whine,
Slapping and lapsing under the day blue and the night stars:
  Who, who are you?
  
Who can ever forget
listening to the wind go by
counting its money
and throwing it away?