Spring, rainbows, <br />ordinary miracles <br />about which <br />nothing new can be said. <br /> <br />The stars on a clear night <br />of a New England winter; <br />the soft air of the islands <br />along the old <br />Spanish Main; <br />pirate gold shining <br />in the palm; <br />the odor of roses <br />to the lover's nose. . . <br /> <br />There is no more poetry <br />to be written <br />of these things. <br />The rainbow's sudden revelation-- <br />behold! <br />The cliché is true! <br />What can one say <br />but that? <br /> <br />So too <br />with you, little heart, <br />little miracle, <br /> <br />but you are <br />no less miracle <br />for being ordinary.<br /><br />Erica Jong<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ordinary-miracles/
