I’ve been reading A Dangerous Age by Ellen Gilchrist today and I just came across a section in which one of her recurring characters, Olivia de Havilland Hand, reads a poem by Mary Oliver called Spring. I was an English major in college and had to read a lot of poetry by old dead men. Did not like. I did read quite a few poems by Mary Oliver and if we ever unpack the boxes of books we have sitting in what’s supposed to be our living room but we call the study, I’ll find several of her books.
Here’s a copy of Spring.