Thursday, June 17, 2010

Thursday Poem - This

This is what was bequeathed us:
This earth the beloved left
And, leaving,
Left to us.

No other world
But this one:
Willows and the river
And the factory
With its black smokestacks.

No other shore, only this bank
On which the living gather.

No meaning but what we find here.
No purpose but what we make.

That, and the beloved's clear instructions:
Turn me into song; sing me awake.

Gregory Orr


Tabor said...


Anonymous said...

O so lovely! gave me goose bumps to read it on this quiet morning.

Silver Birch said...


Anonymous said...

That's beautiful. And I love the conclusion.

the wild magnolia said...

Beauty poem. I especially love the last two lines.~

Sky said...

thank you. it is so nice to find poetry here that i do not know. :)