by Mary Oliver

My work is loving the world 
Here the sunflowers,
there the hummingbird — equal seekers of sweetness.

Here the quickening yeast;
there the blue plums.

Here the clam, deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old?

Is my coat torn?

Am I no longer young,
and still not half-perfect?

Let me keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work—

which is mostly standing still—and learning to be astonished….