"The Man Born to Farming"

The Man Born to Farming

by 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?