Happiness by Jane Kenyon
Diane has posted a new poem at her blog. Check it out here.
The Bleeding-heart: a poem by Mary Oliver
I know a bleeding-heart plant that has thrived for sixty years if not more, and has never missed a spring without rising and spreading itself into a grassy bush, with many small red hearts dangling. Don't you think that deserves a little thought? The woman who planted it has been gone for a long time, and everyone who saw it in that time has also died or moved away and so, like so many stories, this one can't get finished properly. Most things that are important, have you noticed, lack a certain neatness. More delicious, anyway is to remember my grandmother's pleasure when the dissolve of winter was over and the green knobs appeared and began to rise, and to cre- ate their many hearts. One would say she was a simple woman, made happy by simple things. I think this was true. And more than once, in my long life, I have wished to be her.
Comments
I could not find your comment you said you made. Looked back in the comments moderation section, my emails. Its not there. You are not offensive to me, you are real, so try and say it again. I just hope I didn't hurt your feelings.
I'm sure he has some good words for you.
Friday is our last day, with a picnic lunch to follow, some cleaning up, and then all done. All I have to do is get a sermon ready for Sunday. yeah, that's all. And being more like Martha this week, when I usually write my sermons in a Mary kind of state, well, who knows what I'll say.