when death comes

when death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox;

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

i want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

and therefore i look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and i look upon time as no more than an idea,
and i consider eternity as another possibility,

and i think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

when it’s over, i want to say: all my life
i was a bride married to amazement.
i was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

when it’s over, i don’t want to wonder
if i have made of my life something particular, and real.
i don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
i don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.

-mary oliver