Ending and Spending

On Berry, Hopkins, and Sanderson

For all our treading, nature's never spent,
yet still it is being spent.

We're spending and defending our upending 
of the natural order. We grow bolder:
spending, wending our way toward our ending
while the tools of fruitful toil molder
in the garden where we left them.

Look around and see our ravaging,
our love that leaves the milling and tilling 
of the land to machines. We're carting
ourselves to our ends without a thought of starting.

Our end is our beginning—the beginning of our end—
devoid of travelling joy—unravelling
upon the road of paved motives
that we should have followed,
for the following is finding.
Through the falling and the wallowing,
we’re finding strength to rise and follow 
and find, in time, the Found within the finding.