Friday, March 21, 2014

     The winter world of loss
     And grief is gone.  The
night
     Is past.  Along the whole
     Length of the river, birds
     Are singing in the trees.

     Again hope dreams itself
     Awake.  The year's first
lambs
     Cry in the morning dark.
     And, after all, we have 
     A garden in our minds.

     We living know the worth
     Of all the dead have done
     Or hoped to do.  We know
     That hearts, against their 
doom, 
     Must plight an ancient troth.

     Now come the bride and 
groom, 
     Now come the man and
woman
     Who must begin again
     The work divine and
human
     By which we live on earth.

-Wendell Berry, an untitled 1992 "Sabbath" poem

1 comment:

Julie said...

Fantastic!