Water (Wendell Berry Poem)
I was born in a drouth year. That summer my mother waited in the house, enclosed in the sun and ...
I was born in a drouth year. That summer my mother waited in the house, enclosed in the sun and ...
I part the out thrusting branches and come in beneath the blessed and the blessing trees. Though I am silent ...
1. Dear relatives and friends, when my last breath Grows large and free in air, don't call it death -- ...
I. I dream of you walking at night along the streams of the country of my birth, warm blooms and ...
Amid the gray trunks of ancient trees we found the gay woodland lilies nodding on their stems, frail and fair, ...
Though the air is full of singing my head is loud with the labor of words. Though the season is ...
ALL that I serve will die, all my delights, the flesh kindled from my flesh, garden and field, the silent ...
I. The poem is important, but not more than the people whose survival it serves, one of the necessities, so ...
The hill pasture, an open place among the trees, tilts into the valley. The clovers and tall grasses are in ...
Like the water of a deep stream, love is always too much. We did not make it. Though we drink ...
Love the quick profit, the annual raise, vacation with pay. Want more of everything ready-made. Be afraid to know your ...
The longer we are together the larger death grows around us. How many we know by now who are dead! ...
The year begins with war. Our bombs fall day and night, Hour after hour, by death Abroad appeasing wrath, Folly, ...
The ewes crowd to the mangers; Their bellies widen, sag; Their udders tighten. Soon The little voices cry In morning ...
Do not think me gentle because I speak in praise of gentleness, or elegant because I honor the grace that ...
You will be walking some night in the comfortable dark of your yard and suddenly a great light will shine ...
Planting trees early in spring, we make a place for birds to sing in time to come. How do we ...
In a dream I meet my dead friend. He has, I know, gone long and far, and yet he is ...
I He wakes in darkness. All around are sounds of stones shifting, locks unlocking. As if some one had lifted ...
The Grower of Trees, the gardener, the man born to farming, whose hands reach into the ground and sprout to ...
It may be that when we no longer know what to do we have come our real work, and that ...
Geese appear high over us, pass, and the sky closes. Abandon, as in love or sleep, holds them to their ...
When despair grows in me and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound in fear ...
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