Sometimes I grow weary of the days, with all their fits and starts.
I want to climb some old gray mountain, slowly, taking
the rest of my lifetime to do it….
I want to climb some old gray mountain, slowly, taking
the rest of my lifetime to do it….
I want to look back at everything, forgiving it all,
and peaceful, knowing the last thing there is to know.
All that urgency! Not what the earth is about!…
and peaceful, knowing the last thing there is to know.
All that urgency! Not what the earth is about!…
In ten thousand years, maybe, a piece of the mountain will fall.
Mary Oliver, from Swan: Poems and Prose Poems, Beacon Press.
2 comments:
Always nice to read MO. Not sure why I don't read poetry because I like it well enough.
How poignant, as today is the day Elisha Mitchell fell to his death as he tried to prove Mt. Mitchell (then Black Dome) was the highest mountain east of the Mississippi. I have yet to read an Oliver poem I didn't like.
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