When Death Comes

When death comes

like the hungry bear in autumn;

when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse



to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;

when death comes

like the measle-pox




when death comes

like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,




I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:

what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?



And therefore I look upon everything

as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,

and I look upon time as no more than an idea,

and I consider eternity as another possibility,



and I think of each life as a flower, as common

as a field daisy, and as singular,



and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,

tending, as all music does, toward silence,



and each body a lion of courage, and something

precious to the earth.



When it's over, I want to say all my life

I was a bride married to amazement.

I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.



When it's over, I don't want to wonder

if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,

or full of argument.



I don't want to end up simply having visited this world

--Mary Oliver