how lucky we are

An oriole sings from the hedge 

and in the hotel kitchen 

the chef sweetens cream for pastries. 

Far off, lightning and thunder agree 

to join us for a few days 

here in the valley. How lucky we are 

to be holding hands on a porch 

in the country. But even this 

is not the joy that trembles 

under every leaf and tongue. 

 

[Jane Kenyon {1947-1995} 'Song', from Otherwise: Poems]