Swan: Poems and Prose Poems

How silent the trees, their poetry being of themselves only.

Sing, if you can sing, and if not still be musical inside yourself.

Take your busy heart to the art museum and the chamber of commerce but take it also to the forest. The song you heard singing in the leaf when you were a child is singing still.

If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love you very much.

Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing. And gave it up. And took my old body and went out into the morning, and sang.

Lord, there are so many fires, so many words, in my heart. It’s going to take something I can’t even imagine, to put them all out.