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 his
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
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's 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 ~
(New and Selected Poems, Volume
I)
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