wedding

Stumbled on this stunning poem by using Mary Oliver:

This morning the fairway fists of the peonies have become all set
to damage my center
because the solar rises,
because the solar strokes them together with his vintage, buttery palms

they usually open —
swimming pools of lace,
white and crimson —
and all day the black ants climb over them,

dull their deep and mysterious holes
into the curls,
yearning the candy sap,
taking it away

to their darkish, underground towns —
and all day
underneath the shifty wind,
as in a dance to the excellent wedding ceremony,

the flora bend their vibrant our bodies,
and tip their perfume to the air,
and upward push,
their purple stems maintaining

all that dampness and recklessness
gladly and frivolously,
and there it can be returned —
attractiveness the courageous, the exemplary,

blazing open.
Do you're keen on this international?
Do you cherish your humble and silky lifestyles?
Do you like the golf green grass, with its terror below?

Do you furthermore may hurry, 0.5-dressed and barefoot, into the backyard,
and softly,
and exclaiming in their dearness,
fill your palms with the white and purple plants,

with their honeyed heaviness, their lush trembling,
their eagerness
to be wild and ideal for a second, sooner than they may be
not anything, all the time?