I am going to break one of my cardinal rules which is that talking about poems is a dumb thing to do.
First, I’ll say that this poem often wars in my attention with the Mary Oliver poem that I posted last week as “best poem for Litha,” but that I always wind up thinking that it’s more a poem about mysticism than about summer.
Second, I’ll say that most people love this poem for its closing lines: “Tell me, what is it you plan to do/with your one wild and precious* life?” and those are brilliant lines and I sometimes use them to turn my life around and head it back towards my own true North. But those are not the lines that make me love this poem. The lines that make me love this poem are the ones that first explained to me that (like the man surprised…
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