The singular and cheerful life
of any flower
in anyone's garden
or any still unowned field-
if there are any-
by the heart,
by its color
by its obedience
to the holiest of laws:
until you are not...
those princes of everything green-
of which there are truly
an uncountable company,
each on its singular stem
to rise and ripen.
What, in the earth world,
is there not to be amazed by
and to be steadied by
and to cherish?
Oh, my dear heart,
my own dear heart,
full of hesitations,
questions, choice of directions,
look at the world.
Behold the morning glory,
the meanest flower, the ragweed, the thistle.
Look at the grass.
What in the earth is there not to cherish?
The meanest human - Hitler? The drug dealer? The psychopath?
The full moon, with all its bright welcome in the dark night is down now and the owls are silent. Danger roams the woods, at least I know it's possible, so I hesitate to go for a walk alone in the black pre-dawn.
There is gore and glory before me this day.
May my dear heart know of both, and remember to look at both...
The flowers boastful upon the tulip tree..
The surprised bones half buried in the back woods
But I think I will always hesitate, waiting for just a little more light before risking knowing the world, loving the world.
Oh how my souls strives to rise up and my heart to open!
What in this earth do you cherish? Not cherish?