Poem: The Morning Walk

by Mary Oliver

There are a lot of words meaning thanks.

Some you can only whisper.

Others you can only sing.

The pewee whistles instead.

The snake turns in circles,

the beaver slaps his 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.

From Long Life: Essays and Other Writings, Cambridge, Massachusetts: Da Capo Press, 2004, page 83. To me, nearly every haiku is a poem of thanks, of gratitude, of devotion. That’s why I take out my notebook.