This is what was bequeathed us
This is what was bequeathed us:
This earth the beloved left
And, leaving,
Left to us.
No other world
But this one:
Willows and the river
And the factory
With its black smokestacks.
No other shore, only this bank
On which the living gather.
No meaning but what we find here.
No purpose but what we make.
That, and the beloved's clear instructions:
Turn me into song; sing me awake.
Thank you Verse Daily for reminding me of this poem by Gregory Orr, from his collection, How Beautiful the Beloved.
When this poem arrived in my inbox, I saved it in my "poems that I like" folder. I'm glad that it spoke to you, too.
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