memorize a poem a week

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird-
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my jacket torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,

which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.

Thus far, I can recall,

I met a traveler from an antique land who said, “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone stand in the desert. Near them, in the sand, half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, and wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command tell that it’s
Sculptor well those passions read. And yet survived, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hands that mocked them and the heart that fed.

I’m working on the next part, but I’m doing pretty well.

In conjunction with my goal to become left handed, I’ve started writing one classic poem with my left hand each day. So far I’ve memorized “Ozymandias” and I’m nearly done with “The Lake Isle of Innisfree.”

In conjunction with my goal to become left handed, I’ve started writing one classic poem with my left hand each day. So far I’ve memorized “Ozymandias” and I’m nearly done with “The Lake Isle of Innisfree.”