Every morning <br />the world <br />is created. <br />Under the orange <br /> <br />sticks of the sun <br />the heaped <br />ashes of the night <br />turn into leaves again <br /> <br />and fasten themselves to the high branches --- <br />and the ponds appear <br />like black cloth <br />on which are painted islands <br /> <br />of summer lilies. <br />If it is your nature <br />to be happy <br />you will swim away along the soft trails <br /> <br />for hours, your imagination <br />alighting everywhere. <br />And if your spirit <br />carries within it <br /> <br />the thorn <br />that is heavier than lead --- <br />if it's all you can do <br />to keep on trudging --- <br /> <br />there is still <br />somewhere deep within you <br />a beast shouting that the earth <br />is exactly what it wanted --- <br /> <br />each pond with its blazing lilies <br />is a prayer heard and answered <br />lavishly, <br />every morning, <br /> <br />whether or not <br />you have ever dared to be happy, <br />whether or not <br />you have ever dared to pray.<br /><br />Mary Oliver<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/morning-poem/
