Anonymous as cherubs
Over the crib of God,
White seeds are floating
Out of the burst pod.
What power had I
Before I yearned to yield?
Shatter me, a great wind:
I shall possess the field.
A Stone
As casual as cow-dung
Under the crib of God,
I lie where chance would have me
Up to the ears in sod.
Why should I move? To move
Befits a light desire.
The sill of Heaven would founder,
Did such as I aspire.
--Richard Wilbur (1921-2017), from The Echoing Green: Poems of Fields, Meadows, and Grasses, 2016
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| Milkweed and stones, Windridge Solitude Retreat Center, June 26, 2017. |
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