One of my favorite poems

July 4, 2016


The Ponds ~ by Mary Oliver


Every year

the lilies

are so perfect

I can hardly believe


their lapped light crowding

the black,

mid-summer ponds.

Nobody could count all of them ----


the muskrats swimming

among the pads and the grasses

can reach out

their muscular arms and touch


only so many, they are that

rife and wild.

But what in this world

is perfect?


I bend closer and see

how this one is clearly lopsided-

and that one wears an orange blight----

and this one is a glossy cheek


half nibbled away-

and that one is a slumped purse

full of it's own decay.


Still, what I want in my life

is to be willing

to be dazzled----

to cast aside the weight of facts


and maybe even

to float a little

above this difficult world.

I want to believe I am looking


into the white fire of a great mystery.

I want to believe that the imperfections are nothing ----

that the light is everything ----- that it is more than the sum

of each flawed blossom rising and fading. And I do.

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