Monday, November 12, 2012
Strawberries Ripe (poem by Dorothy)
Strawberries Ripe
Whatever you have done in this world,
whether you carried
each day heavily,
like a plate of fish on which
only the skeleton and scales remain,
bound for the discard
almost
before the meal has begun,
or whether
you awoke joyously,
crying,
yes, this is the day
the orchard is ready,
the strawberries
ripe for plucking--
whichever way
you greeted your life,
put on it your special stamp,
that day will remain forever,
part of the great mind,
the memory of how it is
to live on this earth,
with its many
hollows and hills,
its constant rippling
up and down
across the changing surfaces,
carrying us always forward
to the next destination,
another arrival.
Dorothy Walters ("A Cloth of Fine Gold")
(image from internet)
