The Garden

There are too many flowers,
too many scents,
too many petals drifting;
there is too much color,
and the sun bathes it all in sweet warmth,
where a single bloom
can bring the heart
into a frenzy.
I fall into the tangled joy
of life and time,
the hurried comings and goings,
and it is a dream
woven with sunlight.
I bend down here—
love all the small blossoms,
for they know me,
and I breathe in their warmth,
a comfort held close.

• Mary Oliver