by Wendell Berry
My young grandson rides with me
as I mow the day's first swath
in the hillside pasture,
and then he rambles the woods beyond
the field's edge, emerging
from the trees to wave, and I wave back,
remembering that I too once
played at the field's edge and waved
to an old workman who went mowing by,
waving back to me as he passed.
from This Day: Collected & New Sabbath Poems by Wendell Berry
Counterpoint, 2013 
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