Poem
My old poems—I liked them all
well enough when they were new.
They came through the air, I wrote them down,
and sent them on, as also I fed
the birds who stopped here to eat
as they were passing through. Now
I’m asked to read those poems again.
What for? They all are from the Country
of Déjà Vu, which is where
I have no need to go back to.
—Wendell Berry