Wendell Berry

The Hidden Singer

      The gods are less 
      for their love of praise. 
      Above and below them all 
      is a spirit that needs 
      nothing but its own 
      its health and ours. 
      It has made all things 
      by dividing itself. 
      It will be whole again. 
      To its joy we come 
      together—the seer 
      and the seen, the eater 
      and the eaten, the lover 
      and the loved. 
      In our joining it knows 
      itself. It is with us then, 
      not as the gods 
      whose names crest 
      in unearthly fire, 
      but as a little bird 
      hidden in the leaves 
      who sings quietly 
      and waits, 
      and sings.