Thursday, April 30, 2015

...she was born into the poem...

“More Beautiful than the Holy Locust Tree Are the Words of the Lord”
by Mary Oliver (Thirst)

The deer came into the field.
I saw her peaceful face and heard the shuffle of her breath.
She was sweet enough for merriment and not afraid,
            but bold to say
Whose field she was crossing: spoke the tap of her foot:
“It is God’s, and mine.”

But only that she was born into the poem that God made, and 
     called the world.

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