"On Winter's Margin"

On winter’s margin, see the small birds now
With half-forged memories come flocking home
To gardens famous for their charity.
The green globe’s broken; vines like tangled veins
Hang at the entrance to the silent wood.

With half a loaf, I am the prince of crumbs; 
By snow’s down, the birds amassed will sing
Like children for their sire to walk abroad! 
But what I love, is the gray stubborn hawk
Who floats alone beyond the frozen vines; 
And what I dream of are the patient deer
Who stand on legs like reeds and drink that wind; -

They are what saves the world: who choose to grow
Thin to a starting point beyond this squalor. 
-- By Mary Oliver


  1. Might be the best poem I have ever read. This one really, really works for me. Thanks Emily!

  2. I love it, too. "Gardens famous for their charity." Makes me hopeful.


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