Little Summer Poem Touching the Subject of Faith
-Mary Oliver

Every summerI listen and look under the sun's brass and eveninto the moonlight, but I can't hearanything, I can't see anything -- not the pale roots digging down, nor the green stalks muscling up,nor the leavesdeepening their damp pleats,nor the tassels making,nor the shucks, nor the cobs.And still,every day,the leafy fieldsgrow