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Every
day
I see or hear
something
that more or less
kills me
with
delight,
that leaves me
like a
needle
in the haystack
of light.
It was what I was born for -
to
look, to listen,
to lose
myself
inside this soft world -
to instruct myself
over and over
in
joy,
and acclamation.
Nor am I
talking
about the exceptional,
the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant -
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,
the daily presentations.
Oh, good
scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help
but grow
wise
with such teachings
as these -
the untrimmable light
of the
world,
the ocean's shine,
the prayers that are made
out of
grass?
Mary Oliver
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3 comments:
I think I need that poem today. Love it.
Beautiful Words~
Thanks for sharing them today!
Deb
That's a good one. I love Mary Oliver, but hadn't come across this one yet.
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