Poet, Mary Oliver passed away yesterday at the age of 83. She didn't write "fancy" poetry, as she called it. She just wrote from the heart and could capture nature, life, and love with stunning imagery. I admired her work, and fortunately, her words will live on.
Here is a stanza from Dream of Trees by Mary Oliver
There is a thing in me that dreamed of trees,
A quiet house, some green and modest acres
A little way from every troubling town,
A little way from factories, schools, laments.
I would have time, I thought, and time to spare,
With only streams and birds for company,
To build out of my life a few wild stanzas.
And then it came to me, that so was death,
A little way away from everywhere.