Messenger by Mary Oliver

Messenger

by Mary Oliver

My work is loving the world.

Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—    

    equal seekers of sweetness.

Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.

Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?

Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me    

    keep my mind on what matters,

which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be    

    astonished.

The phoebe, the delphinium.

The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.

Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,

which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart    

    and these body-clothes,

a mouth with which to give shouts of joy    

    to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,

telling them all, over and over, how it is    

    that we live forever.