I am just in love with this piece by Mary Oliver…
My work is loving the world.
Here sunflowers, there the hummingbird-equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening of the 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 not half-perfect?
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
telling them all, over and over, how it is that we will live forever.
2 thoughts on “Messenger”
I adore her poems. I published one a while ago I found in an anthology of poems called Wild Geese.. they are so full of presence and embodiment..
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I agree. Delicious