When death comes
Like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright colors from his purse
to by me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measles-pox;
When death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it's over, I want to say; all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it is over, I don't want to wonder
If I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.
Mary Oliver
From: New and Selected Poems by Mary Oliver
