Not This, Not That
Nor anything,
not the eastern wind whose other name is rain,
nor the burning heats of the dunes
at the crown of summer,
nor the ticks, that new, ferocious populace,
nor the President who loves blood,
nor the governmental agencies that love money,
will alter my love for you, my friends and my beloved,
or for you, oh ghosts of Emerson and Whitman,
or for you, oh blue sky of the summer morning,
that makes me roll in a barrel of gratitude down hills,
or for you, oldest of friends: hope:
or for you, newest of friends: faith;
or for you, silliest and dearest of surprises,
my own life.
-Mary Oliver
