and finally

When death comes
like a hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox;

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

~Mary Oliver, When Death Comes, from New Poems, 1991-1992.

This was always the poem I intended to end with, back on April 2nd when I started with The Wasteland. There's not any intentional commentary in that, though, beyond my total belief in poetry. And I did also expect to repeat myself with poets, which it turned out I didn't. Except, of course, for Mary Oliver, which is strange given that most of the poets I adore are long dead. Still, this is one of my very favorite poems. I have greatly enjoyed posting a poem for every day of National Poetry Month, and I hope you have enjoyed the poetry!