Author Burton Watson The twilight bell I waited for is sounding — if tomorrow is granted me, I'll listen for it again Mountain village where wind makes sad noises in the pines — and adding to the loneliness, the cry of an evening cicada Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments