Mary Oliver

Awesome poem by Mary Oliver

The Vale of Soul-Making

When Death Comes

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
 
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-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

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3 thoughts on “Mary Oliver

  1. We come from dreams ~

    This is so quietly mellifuous that it gave me an old “at home” feeling. I was there twice and came back (my own stupidity, natch), the second time admonished not to come before my work was done.

    Reply
    1. Sha'Tara Post author

      Hahahahahaa! They wouldn’t take you either, huh? We’re both “throw backs” from the nether worlds. OK, so what’s their problem? So we shirked a bit, and tried to leave the job early, sheesh, what’s the big deal? Seriously though, it would have been a great loss to me if they’d allowed me to stay. I begged them, but they were adamant. Not ready. Indeed, I can certainly see that now. Thanks for your comment!!!

      Reply

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