I have been thinking <br />about living <br />like the lilies <br />that blow in the fields. <br /> <br />They rise and fall <br />in the edge of the wind, <br />and have no shelter <br />from the tongues of the cattle, <br /> <br />and have no closets or cupboards, <br />and have no legs. <br />Still I would like to be <br />as wonderful <br /> <br />as the old idea. <br />But if I were a lily <br />I think I would wait all day <br />for the green face <br /> <br />of the hummingbird <br />to touch me. <br />What I mean is, <br />could I forget myself <br /> <br />even in those feathery fields? <br />When Van Gogh <br />preached to the poor <br />of coarse he wanted to save someone-- <br /> <br />most of all himself. <br />He wasn't a lily, <br />and wandering through the bright fields <br />only gave him more ideas <br /> <br />it would take his life to solve. <br />I think I will always be lonely <br />in this world, where the cattle <br />graze like a black and white river-- <br /> <br />where the vanishing lilies <br />melt, without protest, on their tongues-- <br />where the hummingbird, whenever there is a fuss, <br />just rises and floats away.<br /><br />Mary Oliver<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lilies/
