[Poetry Friday] On Loving Sorrow

poetry-friday

Fats here.

I was saddened when I heard the news that Amy Krouse Rosenthal passed away. I was reading Red Bird by Mary Oliver two nights ago and I found a poem that I’d like to share with you today. I thought about Amy’s family and friends and I can only imagine what they are going through right now.

Robyn at Life on the Deckle Edge is hosting the Poetry Friday round-up this week!


Love Sorrow

Love sorrow. She is yours now, and you must
take care of what has been
given. Brush her hair, help her
into her little coat, hold her hand,
especially when crossing a street. For, think,

what if you should lose her? Then you would be
sorrow yourself; her drawn face, her sleeplessness
would be yours. Take care, touch
her forehead that she feel herself not so

utterly alone. And smile, that she does not
altogether forget the world before the lesson.
Have patience in abundance. And do not
ever lie or ever leave her even for a moment

by herself, which is to say, possibly, again,
abandoned. She is strange, mute, difficult,
sometimes unmanageable but, remember, she is a child.
And amazing things can happen. And you may see,

as the two of you go
walking together in the morning light, how
little by little she relaxes; she looks about her;
she begins to grow.

sorrow

  1. A great pick, Fats. The photo is good with it, too 🙂

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  2. Beautiful. I was so saddened to hear of the untimely passing of a woman who was such a gift to children and families everywhere.

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  3. Thanks, Fats. A good poem to remember Amy.

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  4. Beautiful words for caring for anyone, Fats. The picture of reflection is wonderful too. Thank you!

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  5. Mary Oliver’s poems are such gifts, even –or maybe especially– for times of sorrow

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  6. Perfect. I posted a Mary Oliver poem about sorrow, too. (Or darkness. Maybe not quite the same.) Ruth, thereisnosuchthingasagodforsakentown.blogspot.com

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  7. So touching. Love Mary Oliver’s ability to ring the bell and make my soul reverberate.

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  8. Fats thanks for this beautiful, sensitive poem by Mary Oliver for Amy Krouse Rosenthal; her life was cut way too short.

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