I went to bed at 8 pm last night -- despite a desperate need for things
to be otherwise, I am still a little bit of an exhausted wreck this week
-- and so failed to post my last poem of the month. Instead, here it is
at dawn on a very rainy May 1st, where it does not really belong at
all; I'm okay with that, though.
I wanted to speak at length about
the happiness of my body and the
delight of my mind for it was
April, night, a
full moon and—
but something in myself or maybe
from somewhere other said: not too
many words, please, in the
muddy shallows the
frogs are singing.
—Mary Oliver (b. 1935), "April".
Happy National Poetry Month, friends. ♥
