Poetry on Friday

I haven't read or posted any poetry for several months, so I think a poem is long overdue. 

The Sunflowers
Mary Oliver

Come with me
into the field of sunflowers.
Their faces are burnished disks,
their dry spines

creak like ship masts,
their green leaves,
so heavy and many,
fill all day with the sticky

sugars of the sun.
Come with me
to visit the sunflowers,
they are shy

but want to be friends;
they have wonderful stories
of when they were young -
the important weather,

the wandering crows.
Don't be afraid
to ask them questions!
Their bright faces,

which follow the sun,
will listen, and all
those rows of seeds -
each one a new life! -

hope for a deeper acquaintance;
each of them, though it stands
in a crowd of many,
like a separate universe,

is lonely, the long work
of turning their lives
into a celebration
is not easy. Come

and let us talk with those modest faces,
the simple garments of leaves,
the coarse roots in the earth
so uprightly burning.

Oliver, Mary. "The Sunflowers." Dream Work, The Atlantic Monthly Press, 1986. 
You can read more about the poet here. 

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I wish you mindfulness, peace, good health, the ability to talk with those modest faces, and poetry as the week winds down.