Poem: Marengo

–Mary Oliver
from New and Select­ed Poems

Out of the sump rise the marigolds.
From the rim of the marsh, muslin with mosquitoes,
ris­es the egret, in his cloud-cloth.
Through the soft rain, like mist, and mica,
the with­ered acres of moss begin again.

When I have to die, I would like to die
on a day of rain–
long rain, slow rain, the kind you think will nev­er end.

And I would like to have what­ev­er lit­tle cer­e­mo­ny there might be
take place while the rain is shov­eled and shov­eled out of the sky,

and any­one who comes must trav­el, slow­ly and with thought,
as around the edges of the great swamp.

Cyn is Rick's wife, Katie's Mom, and Esther & Oliver's Mémé. She's also a professional geek, avid reader, fledgling coder, enthusiastic gamer (TTRPGs), occasional singer, and devoted stitcher.
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