Something to hope for

Night after night
darkness
  enters the face
    of the lily

 which, lightly,
closes its five walls
   around itself,
     and its purse

 of honey
and its fragrance,
   and is content
     to stand there

 in the garden,
not quite sleeping,
  and maybe,
    saying in lily language

 some small words
we can’t hear
  even when there is no wind
    anywhere

 its lips
are so secret,
  its tongue
    is so hidden–

 or, maybe,
it says nothing at all
  but just stands there
    with the patience

 of vegetables
and saints
   until the whole earth has turned around
      and the silver moon

  becomes the golden sun–
as the lily absolutely knew it would,
   which is itself, isn’t it
     the perfect prayer?

~Mary Oliver from Why I Wake early

For Christy