I had never read any of poetry (at least that I remember) until yesterday! I started reading his collection "Farming: A Handbook". Here's one I think the people of the internets might enjoy...
THE MAN BORN TO FARMING
The grower of trees, the gardener, the man born to farming,
whose hands reach into the ground ad sprout,
to him the soil is a divine drug. He enters into death
yearly, and comes back rejoicing. He has seen the light lie
down
in the dung heap, and rise again with the corn.
His thought passes along the row ends like a mole.
What miraculous seed has he swallowed
that the unending sentence of his love flows out of his mouth
like a vine clinging in the sunlight, and like water
descending in the dark?
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