My work is loving the world
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird
Equal seekers of sweetness
Here the quickening yeast, there the blue plums
Here the clam, deep in the speckled sand
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half perfect?
Let me keep my mind on what matters, which is my work,
Which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium. The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here, 
Which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
And these body clothes, a mouth with which to give shouts of joy to the moth, 
And the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam, telling them all, over and over,
How it is that we live forever

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