not all who wander are lost

not all who wander are lost

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

a poooooem by Mary Oliver

The Sun

Have you ever seen


in your life

more wonderful

than the way the sun,

every evening,

relaxed and easy,

floats toward the horizon

and into the clouds or the hills,

or the rumpled sea,

and is gone—

and how it slides again

out of the blackness

every morning,

on the other side of the world,

like a red flower

streaming upward on its heavenly oils,

say on a morning in early summer,

at its perfect imperial distance—

and have you ever felt for anything

such wild love—

do you think there is anywhere, in any language,

a word billowing enough

for the pleasure

that fills you,

as the sun

reaches out,

as it warms you

as you stand there,


or have you too

turned from this world—

or have you too

gone crazy

for power

for things?

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