Morning Poem

Morning Poem

Every morning
the world
is created.
Under the orange

sticks of the sun
the heaped
ashes of the night
turn into leaves again

and fasten themselves to the high branches –
and the ponds appear
like black cloth on which are painted islands

of summer lilies.
If it is your nature
to be happy
you will swim away along the soft trails for hours,
your imagination alighting everywhere.
And if your spirit
carries within it

the thorn
that is heavier then lead –
If its all you can do
to keep on trudging –

there is still
somewhere deep within you a beast
shouting that the earth is exactly what it wanted –

each pond with its blazing lilies
Is a prayer heard and answered
lavishly,
every morning,

whether or not
you have ever dared to be happy
whether or not
you have ever dared to pray.

Morning Poem
by Mary Oliver