The river Of my childhood, That tumbled Down a passage of rocksAnd cut-work ferns,Came here and thereTo the swirlAnd slowdownOf a poolAnd I say myself–Oh, clearly–As I knelt at one–Then I saw myselfAs if carried away,As the river moved on.Where have I gone?Since thenI have looked and lookedFor myself,Not sureWho I am, or where,Or, more importantly, why.It’s okay–I have had a wonderful life.Still, I ponderWhere that other is–Where I landed,What I thought, what I did,What small or even maybe meaningful deedsI might have accomplishedSomewhereAmong strangers,Coming to themAs only a river can–Touching every life it meets–That endlessly kind, that enduring.
~ By Mary Oliver
