Sunday, October 19, 2014

For My Mother;


To me, every hour of the light and dark is a
         miracle,
Every inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is
         spread with the same,
Every cubic foot of the interior swarms with the
         same;
Every spear of grass—the frames, limbs, organs,
         of men and women, and all that concerns
         them,
All these to me are unspeakably perfect miracles.
To me the sea is a continual miracle,
The fishes that swim—the rocks—the motion
         of the waves—the ships, with men in them
         —what stranger miracles are there?

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