Sunday Muse

It is possible, I suppose, that sometime
     we will learn everything
there is to learn:  what the world is, for example,
     and what it means.  I think this as I am crossing
from one field to another, in summer, and the
     mockingbird is mocking me, as one who either
knows enough already or knows enough to be
     perfectly content not knowing.  Song being born
of quest he knows this:  he must turn silent
     were he suddenly assaulted with answers.  Instead
oh hear his wild, caustic, tender warbling ceaselessly
     unanswered.  At my feet the white-petaled daisies display
the small suns of their center-piece, their — if you don’t
     mind my saying so — their hearts.  Of course
I could be wrong, perhaps their hearts are pale and
     narrow and hidden in the roots.  What do I know.
But this: it is heaven itself to take what is given,
     to see what is plain; what the sun
lights up willingly; for example — I think this
     as I reach down, not to pick but merely to touch —
the suitability of the field for the daisies, and the
     daisies for the field.
~ Mary Oliver from “Why I Wake Early”

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