Morning Poem
by Mary Oliver
Every morning
the world is created.
Under the orange sticks of the sun
the heaped ashes of the night
turn into leaves again
and fasten themselves
to the high branches-
If it is your nature
to be happy
you will swim away along the soft trails
for hours, your imagination
alighting everywhere.
And if your spirit carries within it
the thorn that is heavier than lead-
if it is all you can do to keep on trudging —
there is still
somewhere deep within you
a beast shouting that the earth
is exactly what it wanted.
Each pond with its blazing lilies
is a prayer heard and answered
lavishly,
every morning,
whether or not
you have ever dared to be happy,
whether or not
you have ever dared to pray.
Mary Oliver New and Selected Poems
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