Leaving the house,
I went out to see
The frog, for example,
in her satiny skin;
and her eggs
like a slippery veil;
and her eyes
with their golden rims;
and the pond
with its risen lilies;
and its warmed shores
dotted with pink flowers;
and the long, windless afternoons;
and the white heron
like a dropped cloud,
taking one slow step
then standing awhile then taking
another, writing
her own soft-footed poem
through the still waters.
-- Mary Oliver
