Mary Oliver: Morning Poem

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— 
and the ponds appear 
like black cloth 
on which are painted islands

 

of summer lilies. 
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's 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