I implore you,
it’s time to come back
from the dark,

It’s morning,
The hills are pink
and the roses
whatever they felt

In the valley of night
are opening now
their soft dresses,
their leaves

are shining.
Why are you laggard?
Sure you have seen this
a thousand times,

which isn’t half enough.
Let the world
have its way with you,
luminous as it is

With mystery
and pain—
graced as it is
with the ordinary

Mary Oliver