Poetry: Landscape

Land­scape
–Mary Oliver
From Dream Work

Isn’t it plain the sheets of moss, except that
they have no tongues, could lecture
all day if they want­ed about

spir­i­tu­al patience? Isn’t it clear
the black oaks along the path are standing
as though they were the most frag­ile of flowers?

Every morn­ing I walk like this around
the pond, think­ing: if the doors of my heart
ever close, I am as good as dead.

Every morn­ing, so far, I’m alive. And now
the crows break off from the rest of the darkness
and burst up into the sky–as though

all night they had thought of what they would like
their lives to be, and imagined
their strong, thick wings.

Cyn is a proud Mommy & Mémé, professional geek, avid reader, fledgling coder, enthusiastic gamer (TTRPGs), occasional singer, and devoted stitcher.
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