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More poems by Mary OliverMary Oliver | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by Mary OliverBooks by Mary Oliver

August

Mary Oliver

   
When the blackberries hang
swollen in the woods, in the brambles
nobody owns, I spend

all day among the high
branches, reaching
my ripped arms, thinking

of nothing, cramming
the black honey of summer
into my mouth; all day my body

accepts what it is. In the dark
creeks that run by there is
this thick paw of my life darting among

the black bells, the leaves; there is
this happy tongue.

Added: 2 Mar 2002 | Last Read: 16 Dec 2018 12:49 AM | Viewed: 21239 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/3150/ | Viewed on 15 December 2018.
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