Two poems by Mary Oliver - Sending her collective love and good energy!

Mockingbirds

This morning
two mockingbirds
in the green field
were spinning and tossing

the white ribbons
of their songs
into the air.
I had nothing

better to do
than listen.
I mean this
seriously.

In Greece,
a long time ago,
an old couple
opened their door

to two strangers
who were,
it soon appeared,
not men at all,

but gods.
It is my favorite story--
how the old couple
had almost nothing to give

but their willingness
to be attentive--
but for this alone
the gods loved them

and blessed them--
when they rose
out of their mortal bodies,
like a million particles of water

from a fountain,
the light
swept into all the corners
of the cottage,

and the old couple,
shaken with understanding,
bowed down--
but still they asked for nothing

but the difficult life
which they had already.
And the gods smiled, as they vanished,
clapping their great wings.

Wherever it was
I was supposed to be
this morning--
whatever it was I said

I would be doing--
I was standing
at the edge of the field--
I was hurrying

through my own soul,
opening its dark doors--
I was leaning out;
I was listening.

 *******************************

The Winter Wood Arrives

I think
     I could have
          built a little house
               to live in


with the single cord—
     half seasoned, half not—
          trucked into the
               driveway and


tumbled down. But, instead,
     friends came
          and together we stacked it
               for the long, cold days


that are—
     maybe the only sure thing in the world—
          coming soon.
               How to keep warm


is always a problem,
     isn't it?
          Of course, there's love.
               And there's prayer.


I don't belittle them,
     and they have warmed me,
          but differently,
               from the heart outwards.


Imagine
     what swirls of frost will cling
          to the windows, what white lawns
               I will look out on


as I rise from morning prayers,
     as I remember love, that leaves yet never leaves,
          as I go out into the yard
               and bring the wood in


with struggling steps,
     with struggling thoughts,
          bundle by bundle,
               to be burned. 

Mary Oliver