The Kingfisher
    I thank John C. for forwarding me this exquisite poem by one of my favorite poets–Mary Oliver. I think this poem is definitely worth several readings.–April Moore
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The Kingfisher
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The kingfisher rises out of the black wave
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like a blue flower, in his beak
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he carries a silver leaf. I think this is
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the prettiest world–so long as you don’t mind
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a little dying, how could there be a day in your
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whole life
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that doesn’t have its splash of happiness?
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There are more fish than there are leaves
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on a thousand trees, and anyway the kingfisher
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wasn’t born to think about it, or anything else.
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When the wave snaps shut over his blue head, the
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water
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remains water–hunger is the only story
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he has ever heard in his life that he could
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believe.
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I don’t say he’s right. Neither
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do I say he’s wrong. Religiously he swallows the
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silver leaf
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with its broken red river, and with a rough and
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easy cry
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I couldn’t rouse out of my thoughtful body
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if my life depended on it, he swings back
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over the bright sea to do the same thing, to do it
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(as I long to do something, anything) perfectly.
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Mary Oliver
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June 15th, 2009 at 2:16 pm
Mary Oliver has many wonderful poems about nature. I printed up one for Daniel when he left here last week…
June 16th, 2009 at 2:30 am
That was beautiful, April. Thank you. The picture was also perfect.
June 17th, 2009 at 4:13 pm
How beautiful–both the poem and photo. Thanks, April.