Leavetaking

Nearing the start of that mysterious last season
Which brings us closer to the close of the other four,
I'm somewhat afraid and don't know how to prepare
So I will praise you.

I will praise you for the glaze on buttercups
And for the pearly scent of wild fresh water
And the great crossbow shapes of swans flying over
With that strong silken threshing sound of wings
Which you gave them when you made them without voices.

And I will praise you for crickets.
On starry autumn nights
When the earth is cooling
Their rusty dimunitive music
Repeated over and over
Is the very marrow of peace.

And I will praise you for the crows calling from treetops
The speech of my first village,
And for the sparrow's flash of song
Flinging me in an instant
The joy of a child who woke
Each morning to the freedom
Of her mother's unclouded love
And lived in it like a country.

And I will praise you that from vacant lots
From only broken glass and candy wrappers
You raise up blue chicory flowers.
I thank you for that secret praise
Which burns in every creature,
And I ask you to bring us to life
Out of every sort of death

And teach us mercy.

-- Anne Porter (1911-2011) from Living Things: Collected Poems, 2006