Happy National Poetry Month!

It is the last day of National Poetry Month -- we almost missed it! Here is a lovely spring poem from Mary Oliver in celebration of the last day of April. 

Such Singing in the Wild Branches

By Mary Oliver

It was spring 
and finally I heard him
among the first leaves— 
then I saw him clutching the limb

in an island of shade
with his red-brown feathers 
all trim and neat for the new year. 
First, I stood still

and thought of nothing. 
Then I began to listen. 
Then I was filled with gladness
—
and that’s when it happened,

when I seemed to float,
to be, myself, a wing or a tree— 
and I began to understand 
what the bird was saying,

and the sands in the glass
stopped
for a pure white moment
while gravity sprinkled upward

like rain, rising, 
and in fact 
it became difficult to tell just what it was that was singing—
it was the thrush for sure, but it seemed

not a single thrush, but himself, and all his brothers, 
and also the trees around them,
as well as the gliding, long-tailed clouds 
in the perfectly blue sky— all, all of them

were singing. 
And, of course, yes, so it seemed, 
so was I. 
Such soft and solemn and perfect music doesn’t last

for more than a few moments. 
It’s one of those magical places wise people
like to talk about. 
One of the things they say about it, that is true,

is that, once you’ve been there, 
you’re there forever. 
Listen, everyone has a chance. 
Is it spring, is it morning?

Are there trees near you, 
and does your own soul need comforting?
Quick, then— open the door and fly on your heavy feet; the song 
may already be drifting away.

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