Crumbs

the streets are empty
the sidewalks abandoned 
as the white horse rides
through God’s country
while on the outskirts of life
forgotten bodies
long to be touched like lepers
eyes waiting for the sun to rise
lips praying for
crumbs from your table

The Peace of Wild Things by Wendell Berry

When despair grows in me
and I wake in 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.