A Poem Snack

My Dad is visiting for the week so life is busy. I needed a moment to my self and a poem so I thought I would share it.

The Wild by Wendell Berry

In the empty lot- a place
not natural, but wild- among
the trash of human absence,

A few wood birds
fly and sing
in the new foliage
-warblers and tanagers, birds
wild as leaves; in a million
each one would be rare,

new to the eyes. A man
couldn't make a habit
of such color,

such flight and singing.
But they are the habit of this
wasted place. In them

the ground is wise. They are
its remembrance of what is.

After writing the poem down I now wonder if I agree with it. I am a great believer in those small wild places near by (see HERE). I don't think of them as "trash of human absence" so what then is it about this poem that attracts me? I think its the color and wildness of the birds. Even they seem to disagree with the poet.