I don\u2019t want to leave.
\nI have too much to do.
\nTo listen to the earth grow its grass.
\nWho will tell how well it grows
\nif I leave?
\nWho will praise the small bud
\ndeveloping carefully in the cold,
\na silver silk covering its face?
\nWho will tell it how beautiful it is?
\nThat it is welcome.
\nThat spring will wash gold over its face,
\nand stars fill its eyes of satin whiteness.<\/p>\n
Who will put the fledgling
\nback on its nest,
\nor uncover the door to the rabbits burrow,
\nor watch flying soar from the wings
\nof birds?
\nWho will watch water run over stones,
\ndawn peek like a child above its crib,
\nthe moon be admired for her dress,
\nan old woman be followed with a prayer,
\na poem be read
\nfrom a hand shaking with love.<\/p>\n
Why must I notice these things,
\nput them in some book,
\ncover them with warmth,
\npick them up,
\nput them down?
\nI don\u2019t know,
\nexcept my heart refuses to leave them,
\nbecause the huge is small,
\nand I see
\nin the sweep of this small tenderness,
\nthe great arms of the world.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I don\u2019t want to leave. I have too much to do. To listen to the earth grow its grass. Who will tell how well it…<\/p>\n