Messenger
By Mary Oliver
My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird— equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still half-perfect? Let me keep my mind on
what matters, which is my work, which is mostly standing still and
learning to be astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here, which
is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart and these body-clothes, a
mouth with which to give shouts of joy to the moth and the wren, to
the sleepy dug-up clam, telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.
No comments:
Post a Comment