A beautiful poem

snow geese

Snow Geese

 

Oh, to love what is lovely, and will not last!

What a task to ask

of anything, or anyone,

yet it is ours,

and not by the century or the year, but by the hours.

 

One fall day I heard above me,

and above the sting of the wind,

a sound I did not know,

and my look shot upward;

it was a flock of snow geese,

winging it faster than the ones we usually see,

and, being the color of snow,

catching the sun

 

so they were, in part at least, golden.

I held my breath as we do sometimes

to stop time when something

wonderful has touched us

 

as with a match, which is lit,

and bright,

but does not hurt in the common way,

but delightfully,

as if delight were the most serious thing you ever felt.

 

The geese flew on,

I have never seen them again.

Maybe I will,

someday, somewhere.

Maybe I won’t. It doesn’t matter.

What matters is that, when I saw them,

I saw them as through the veil,

secretly, joyfully, clearly.

 

~ Mary Oliver ~

 

 

 

2016-10-15T01:45:27+00:00 March 5th, 2015|Comments Off on A beautiful poem