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.