I could not find it now -- that brook Which washed chilled clumps of watercress. Surveyors and bulldozers took The meadow which the spring would dress In bluets. Where the cool hushed grove Sheltered the vireo, there now Stand condominiums, which drove Away what neither ax nor plow Distributed before. Geraniums grow In minute beds, and feeders lure Winter-starved blue jay. Vireo Does not appear. Except, there were Notes, one June night, which som eone heard . . . Nobody saw a small ghost-bird.