Friday, September 26, 2014

Their Accustomed Place

Forgive me.
For hours I had tried to sleep
and failed;
restless and wild,

I could settle on nothing

and fell, in envy
of the things of darkness
following their sleepy course--

the root and branch, the bloodied beak--
even the screams from the cold leaves
were as red songs that rose and fell
in their accustomed place.

-Mary Oliver


Photo taken 9/24/2014