“The Farm”

“The Farm” IX
Wendell Berry
A Timbered Choir:
The Sabbath Poems: 1979-1997

To rest, go to the woods
Where what is made is made
Without your thought or work.
Sit down; begin the wait
For small trees to grow big,
Feeding on earth and light.
Their good result is song
The winds must bring, the trees
Must wait to sing, and sing
Longer than you can wait.
Soon you must go.  The trees,
Your seniors, standing thus
Acknowledged in your eyes,
Stand as your praise and prayer.
Your rest is in this praise
Of what you cannot be
And what you cannot do.

 

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One response to this post.

  1. I love Wendell Berry! He is a much too underappreciated poet.

    Reply

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