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our sunday poem (mary oliver)

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 There are a lot of words meaning thanks.
Some you can only whisper.
Others you can only sing.
The peewee whistles instead.
The snake turns in circles,
the beaver slaps its tail 
on the surface of the pond.
The deer in the pinewoods stamps his hoof.
Goldfinches shine as they float through the air.
A person, sometimes, will hum a little Mahler,
Or put arms around old oak tree.
Or take out lovely pencil and notebook to find a few touching, kissing words.

source: “The morning walk” in: Oliver, M. (2004). Long life: essays and other writings. Da Capo Press, p. 83.

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