your one wild and precious life...

We had a little poetry slam tonight. I was going to read this poem, mostly because I love the last few lines, but I forgot to print it off. So I am posting it here.

The Summer Day 



Who made the world?

Who made the swan, and the black bear? 


Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean-- 


the one who has flung herself out of the grass, 


the one who is eating sugar out of my hand, 


who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-- 


who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes. 


Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face. 


Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away. 


I don't know exactly what a prayer is. 


I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down 


into the grass, how to kneel in the grass, 


how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, 


which is what I have been doing all day. 


Tell me, what else should I have done? 


Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon? 

Tell me, what is is you plan to do 


With your one wild and precious life? 



~Mary Oliver