“When Death Comes” by Mary Oliver
When Death Comes When death comes like the hungry bear in autumn; when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse to…
Continue reading →When Death Comes When death comes like the hungry bear in autumn; when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse to…
Continue reading →The Tyger Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant…
Continue reading →Do poems about dogs qualify as mystical poetry? Mary Oliver’s certainly do. My definition of mystical poetry is any poem “that describes or evokes an…
Continue reading →Trees I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is prest Against the earth’s sweet…
Continue reading →Self Pity I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt…
Continue reading →I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers flow in the right direction, will the earth turn as it was taught, and…
Continue reading →Let them be as flowers, always watered, fed, guarded, admired, but harnessed to a pot of dirt. I’d rather be a tall, ugly weed, clinging…
Continue reading →IAmong twenty snowy mountains, The only moving thing Was the eye of the blackbird. III was of three minds,Like a treeIn which there are three…
Continue reading →We think we get over things. We don’t get over things. Or say, we get over the measles but not a broken heart. We need…
Continue reading →Look, the trees are turning their own bodies into pillars of light, are giving off the rich fragrance of cinnamon and fulfillment, the long tapers…
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