The peace of wild things in  General   

When despair grows in me
and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

By Wendell Berry

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Other poems by Wendell Berry:

• 1991-I
• 1991-II
• A Meeting
• A Warning To My Readers
• Do not be ashamed
• For The Future
• In A Motel Parking Lot, Thinking Of Dr. Williams
• In this World
• Like The Water
• Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front
• Ripening
• Sabbaths 2001
• Testament
• The Country Of Marriage
• The Lilies
• The Man Born to Farming
• The peace of wild things
• The Real Work
• The Silence
• The Wish to be Generous
• Water
• What We Need Is Here
• Woods