About Me
Enough about me. This is for [y]ou.
More on Me Here
e-mail me

 Subscribe in a reader

What should i Link to?


Saturday, January 19, 2008
Farm Poem
The Man Born to Farming
Wendell Berry

The grower of trees, the gardener, the man born to farming,
Whose hands reach into the ground and sprout,
To him the soil is a divine drug. He enters into death
Yearly, and comes back rejoicing. He has seen the light lie down
In the dung heap, and rise again in the corn.
His thought passes along the row ends like a mole.
What miraculous seed has he swallowed
That the unending sentence of his love flows out of his mouth
like a vine clinging in the sunlight, and like water
descending in the dark?
posted by John David Walt | at 1/19/2008 03:50:00 PM



Post a Comment

<< Home