Envy

Despite long years of being aware of it,

I still tend to personalized and compare,

thereby

(I have to admit this)

diminishing the impact of the original event.

 

For example,

Mary Oliver's wren in the privet

singing his prayer with enthusiasm

awakens my envy.

I don't have a privet hedge,

let alone one that's home to a singing wren.

I don't walk out the door of a morning

notebook in hand

to record the early beauties of a day—

because eight months of the year

it's too friggin' frigid to go out.

 

I see how this envy

corrodes my soul

and diminishes the joy

that I could otherwise take

from hearing about

the heart-stopping song

of a wren.

 

 

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