A poem for Thanksgiving - excerpts from 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 calm 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.
...



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.