A poem by the American farmer, environmentalist and poet, Wendell Berry:
Sowing the seed
My hand is one with the Earth
Wanting the seed to grow,
My mind is one with the light.
Hoeing the crop,
My hands are one with the rain.
Having cared for the plants,
My mind is one with the air.
Hungry and trusting,
My mind is one with the Earth
Eating the fruit,
My body is one with the Earth.
Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening by American poet, Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it’s queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there’s some mistake.
The only other sounds the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
A poem by British poet Gerard Manley Hopkins
Wild air, world-mothering air,
Nestling me everywhere,
That each eyelash or hair
Girdles; goes home betwixt
The fleeciest, frailest-flixed
Snowflake; that is fairly mixed
With riddles, and is rife
In every least thing’s life,
This needful, never spent,
And nursing element;
My more than meat and drink,
My meal at every wink;
This air, which, by life’s law,
My lung must draw and draw
Now but to breathe its praise….
