The third in a series of poems by the great Wendell Berry, from his collection ‘This Day: Collected and New Sabbath Poems’.
Surely it will be for this: the redbud
pink, the wild plum white, yellow
trout lilies in the morning light,
the trees, the pastures turning green.
On the river, quiet at daybreak,
the reflections of the trees, as in
another world, lie across
from shore to shore. Yes, here
is where they will come, the dead,
when they rise from the grave.
– Wendell Berry, This Day: Collected and New Sabbath Poems, 2001 (II)