Thursday, July 12, 2012

Of wrens and poets


Just now the wren from Carolina buzzed              
Through the neighbor’s hedge
a line of grace notes I couldn’t even write down
much less sing.


Now he lifts his chestnut colored throat
and delivers such a cantering praise-
for what?
For the early morning, the taste of the spider,


for his small cup of life
that he drinks from everyday, knowing it will refill.
All things are inventions of holiness.
Some more rascally than others.


I’m on that list too,
though I don’t know exactly where.
But, every morning, there’s my own cup of gladness,
and there’s that wren in the hedge, above me, with his 


blazing song.


The Wren from Carolina, by Mary Oliver

2 comments:

  1. Every morning I stand at the window looking out at the lake holding my steaming cup of coffee. Before that first sip I acknowledge and give thanks for my own cup of gladness. Everyone's cup is different but we do each have a cup. Thank you Jen and Mary Oliver for reminding us about this. Ginny

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  2. Lips to cup: to our individual and collective gratitude!

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