Friday, April 12, 2013

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 buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox:


when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?


And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,


and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,


and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,


and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.


When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.


When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.



–Mary Oliver






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