featured, POETRY — May 8, 2012 at 11:40 am




Every morning

the world

is created

Under the orange

sticks of the sun

the heaped

ashes of the night

turn into leaves aain

and fasten themselves to the high branches

and the ponds appear

like black cloth

on which are painted island

of summer lilies

if it is your nature

to be happy

you will swim away along the soft trails

An excerpt from Morning by Mary Oliver