Tuesday Morning Poem

Doesn’t Every Poet Write a Poem About Unrequited Love?
By Mary Oliver

The flowers

I wanted to bring you,

wild and wet

from the pale dunes


and still smelling

of the summer night,

and still holding a moment or two

of the night cricket’s


humble prayer,

would have been

so handsome

in your hands —


so happy – I dare to say it –

in your hands –

yet your smile

would have been nowhere


and maybe you would have tossed them

onto the ground,

or maybe, for tenderness,

you would have taken them


into your house

and given them water

and put them in a dark corner

out of reach.


In matters of love

of this kind

there are things we long to do

but must not do.


I would not want to see

your smile diminished.

And the flowers, anyway,

are happy just where they are,


on the pale dunes,

above the cricket’s humble nest,

under the blue sky

that loves us all.

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