VII.
What a wonder I was
when I was young, as I learn
by the stern privilege
of being old: how regardlessly
I stepped the rough pathways
of the hillside woods,
treaded hardly thinking
the tumbled stairways
of the steep streams, and worked
unaching hard days
thoughtful only of the work,
the passing light, the heat, the cool
water I gladly drank.
“VII.” by Wendell Berry from A Small Porch. © Counterpoint, 2016. Reprinted with permission.
Writers Almanac
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