I had a dogwho loved flowers. Briskly she wentthrough the fields, yet pausedfor the honeysuckleor the rose, her dark headand her wet nosetouchingthe faceof every onewith its petalsof silkwith its fragrancerisinginto the airwhere the bees, their bodiesheavy with pollenhovered -and easilyshe adoredevery blossomnot in the seriouscareful waythat we choosethis blossom or that blossomthe way we praise or don't praise -the way we loveor don't love -but the waywe long to be -that happyin the heaven of earth -that wild, that loving.
Mary OliverAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: american
- Born: September 10, 1935
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