Monday, August 22, 2011

Mary Oliver

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From New and Selected Poems, Volume One.

1 comment:

  1. Old love knows best

    upon which bed to lay its fate to rest;

    it is not hurried by the changing seasons,

    not rushed, though Reason gives a thousand reasons.

    It is not marked by anger nor by dread;

    by patience and by kindness it is known.

    Its root goes deep, beyond the flesh and bone,

    so it alone remains when life has fled.

    Old love flows free, not bound by time or space;

    its blessings fall upon the hour and the day,

    and on the years which swiftly pass away

    but it alone escapes Death's cold embrace

    because Death has no hold on it, no sway,

    Death only rules the dust; old love does not decay.