may my heart always be open
to little birds, who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if we can’t hear them, then we are old,
then we are old..
and may my mind stroll about hungry,
and fearless, and thirsty, and supple,
and even if it’s Sunday, may I be wrong,
for whenever we’re right,
then we’re not young..
and may myself do nothing usefully,
and love yourself so more than truly,
there’s never been quite such a fool who could fail,
pulling all the sky over me,
pulling all the sky over me,
pulling all the sky over me with one smile…
may my heart always be open to little, from COMPLETE POEMS:1904-1962, by E. E. Cummings, edited by George J. Firmage. Copyright ©1938, 1966, 1991 by the Trustees for the E. E. Cummings Trust. Adapted and used by permission of Liveright Publishing Corporation.
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