Mary Eastwood Knevels

DIVIDING the land are the walls, walls of stone and linking

Pasture with meadow and meadow with pasture again.

Loops of stone, I see them stretching everywhere in lines and circles,

Beautiful reaching lines that separate wheat fields

From the pale blue of rye, and the waving splendor of oats.

Separating and joining, O walls of gray,

Join, I beseech you, my spirit with yours;

Separate me from the world that I may be with you,

Touching the golden of wheat fields, the silver of rye.