TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations & other curiosities :: profile
07 October 2006
A DREAM OF TREES Mary Oliver There is a thing in me that dreamed of trees, A quiet house, some green and modest acres A little way from every troubling town, A little way from factories, schools, laments. I would have time, I thought, and time to spare, With only streams and birds for company. To build out of my life a few wild stanzas. And then it came to me, that so was death, A little way away from everywhere. There is a thing in me still dreams of trees, But let it go. Homesick for moderation, Half the world�s artists shrink or fall away. If any find solution, let him tell it. Meanwhile I bend my heart toward lamentation Where, as the times implore our true involvement, The blades of every crisis point the way. I would it were not so, but so it is. Who ever made music of a mild day?
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