Morning Poem - Mary Oliver

mary oliver's morning poem, the second poem of hers I experienced after wild geese

Every morning 

the world 

is created

Under the orange 

sticks of the sun

the heaped

ashes of the night

turn into leaves again

and fasten themselves to the high branches 

and the ponds appear 

like black cloth 

on which are painted islands

of summer lilies

 If it is your nature

to be happy 

you will swim away along the soft trails 

for hours, your imagination 

alighting everywhere

And if your spirit 

carries within it

the thorn

that is heavier than lead

if it's all you can 

to keep trudging

there is still

somewhere deep within you

a beast shouting that the earth 

is exactly what it wanted

each pond with its blazing lilies

is a prayer heard and answered 

lavishly,

every morning,

whether or nor 

you have ever dared to be happy,

whether or not

you have ever dared to pray.