ON WINTER’S MARGIN
Mary Oliver
On winter’s margin, see the small birds now
With half-forged memories come flocking home
To gardens famous for their charity.
The green globe’s broken; vines like tangled veins
Hang at the entrance to the silent wood.
With half a loaf, I am the prince of crumbs;
By time snow’s down, the birds amassed will sing
Like children for their sire to walk abroad!
But what I love, is the gray stubborn hawk
Who floats alone beyond the frozen vines;
And what I dream of are the patient deer
Who stand on legs like reeds and drink the wind;-
They are what saves the world: who choose to grow
Thin to a starting point beyond this squalor.
Beth,
I forgot to ask if you had a copy of the book I got you for Solstice. You probably did, but I picked it up when I was in CA. I saw it and it was for you.
Stan
Dearest one!
I keep forgetting to tell you how much I love it!!! I feel terrible that I am so late in thanking you, but by way of a slight offering of apology, I dedicate today’s poem to you.
Love and so much gratitude, especially for how you get me,
– Beth