top of page
DSCN1031 copy strip.JPG

"Poem 133: The Summer Day", by Mary Oliver

A dear student mentioned this poem in class a few days ago (thank you for reminding us of this one, Eileen!):

Poem 133: The Summer Day

Who made the world?

Who made the swan, and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean—

the one who has flung herself out of the grass,

the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,

who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—

who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.

Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

I don't know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

- Mary Oliver

A participant during our Mexico Viniyoga Retreat, at Purisima de Chamacuero
80 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All


bottom of page