Gift

Gift

A day so happy.
Fog lifted early. I worked in the garden.
Hummingbirds were stopping over the honeysuckle flowers.
There was no thing on earth I wanted to possess.
I knew no one worth my envying him.
Whatever evil I had suffered, I forgot.
To think that once I was the same man did not embarrass me.
In my body I felt no pain.
When straightening up, I saw blue sea and sails.

--Czeslaw Milosz, from Selected and Last Poems (1931-2004)

This entry was posted by Richard Beck. Bookmark the permalink.

6 thoughts on “Gift”

  1. I don't know if it's possible to feel this way all the time. As I read the poem it seems like the experience is a moment, perhaps fleeting. And unexpected. In the middle of all the difficulty, a moment of gift.

  2. It is a surprisingly dense poem - enjoyment in the garden leads to digging deeper physically and emotionally.  The speaker can even see himself without embarrassment .  I copied this out for my most recent letter to my son at college with your web address.  Thank you.

Leave a Reply