Today’s poem 16.10.2015

Here, have some Wendell Berry, circa 1985, for your Friday morning.

From A Timbered Choir.

Not again in this flesh will I see

the old trees stand here as they did,

weighty creatures made of light, delight

of their making straight in them and well,

whatever blight our blindness was or made,

however thought or act might fail.


The burden of absence grows, and I pay

daily the grief I owe to love

for women and men, days and trees

I will not know again. Pray

for the world’s light thus borne away.

Pray for the little songs that wake and move.


For comfort as these lights depart,

recall again the angels of the thicket,

columbine aerial in the whelming tangle,

song drifting down, light rain, day

returning in song, the lordly Art

piecing out its humble way.


Though blindness may yet detonate in light,

ruining all, after all the years, great right

subsumed finally in paltry wrong,

what do we know? Still

the Presence that we come into with song is here,

shaping the seasons of His wild will.



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