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(826) The Loon - Oliver

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  • Sam Droege
    The Loon Not quite four a.m., when the rapture of being alive strikes me from sleep, and I rise from the comfortable bed and go to another room, where my books
    Message 1 of 1 , Jul 30, 2007
      The Loon

      Not quite four a.m., when the rapture of being alive
      strikes me from sleep, and I rise
      from the comfortable bed and go
      to another room, where my books are lined up
      in their neat and colorful rows. How

      magical they are! I choose one
      and open it. Soon
      I have wandered in over the waves of the words
      to the temple of thought.

      And then I hear
      outside, over the actual waves, the small,
      perfect voice of the loon. He is also awake,
      and with his heavy head uplifted he calls out
      to the fading moon, to the pink flush
      swelling in the east that, soon,
      will become the long, reasonable day.

      Inside the house
      it is still dark, except for the pool of lamplight
      in which I am sitting.

      I do not close the book.

      Neither, for a long while, do I read on.

      - Mary Oliver
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