Wendell Berry: Sabbath Poem V, 1988

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Always in the distance
the sound of cars is passing
on the road, that simplest form 
going only two ways, 
both ways away. And I 
have been there in that going.

But now I rest and am
apart, a part of the form
of the woods always arriving
from all directions home,
this cell of wild sound,
the hush of the trees, singers
hidden among the leaves–

a form whose history is old,
needful, unknown, and bright
as the history of the starts
that tremble in the sky at night
like leaves of a great tree.

       –Wendell Berry