poetry is everywhere
open your eyes and ears and heart
just look around:
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in the billowing clouds
in the birds that soar and sing
in deep ocean blue
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in creatures that crawl
in flowers that blossom and bloom
even shadows of trees
“Poetry is a river. Poem after poem moves along in its own way and time; almost everything, in the end, passes. But the desire to make a poem, and in the world’s willingness to receive it—indeed the world’s need of it—these never pass.”—Mary Oliver
