Listen, he said.
The wind came down the
and washed the full trees,

the moss dimmed and paled,
the white rocks
blazed out.

I thought, this will go on
whatever else goes on,
beyond all human stir,

and I stood to face it
as something to be answered,
and saw the morning

turn a bright spine to the sun
and run across the heights,
pine-blue, pine-piled,

and felt the rising wind
divide the forest like a sea,

and if you ask me now
what I am, I will say,

listen, I have never forgotten
that wind that never pauses,

now as I speak to you, I know
the deep familiar unease,
that deep unease which is my rest.

Lionel Basney
Owen Flood
January 13, 1920 - March 27, 1974
We will see no more
the mown grass fallen behind him
on the still ridges before night,
or hear him laughing in the crop rows,
or know the order of his delight.

Though the green fields are my delight,
elegy is my fate. I have come to be
survivor of many and of much
that I love, that I won’t live to see
come again into this world.

Things that mattered to me once
won’t matter any more,
for I have left the safe shore
where magnificence of art
could suffice my heart.

In the day of his work
when the grace of the world
was upon him, he made his way,
not turning back or looking aside,
light in his stride.

Now may the grace of death
be upon him, his spirit blessed
in deep song of the world
and the stars turning, the seasons
returning, and lost rest.

-Wendell Berry
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