How I go to the woods – Mary Oliver

I go to the woods alone,
With not a single friend,
For they are all smilers and talkers
And therefore unsuitable.
I don’t really want to be witnessed
Talking to the catbirds
Or hugging the old black oak tree.
I have my way of praying,
As you no doubt have yours.
When I am alone I can become invisible.
I can sit on the top of a dune
As motionless as an uprise of weeds,
Until the foxes run by unconcerned.
I can hear the almost unhearable sound
Of the roses singing.
If you have ever gone to the woods with me,
I must love you very much.


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