The Messenger

My work is loving this 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 not 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, 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 all live forever.

 

Mary Oliver