"Briefly It Enters, and Biefly Speaks" by Jane Kenyon

I hope you’ve enjoyed National Poetry Month as much as I have this year. I love this poem and feel like it's a good one to end with. I'll give you a hint (like every other poem this month, this one's a poem about poetry, too). This will be the last Poetry Month post, but don’t be sad (I know your heart is weeping) because May’s theme will be really, really exciting! I promise. I just need to figure out what it will be…

Briefly It Enters, and Briefly Speaks
by Jane Kenyon

I am the blossom pressed in a book,
found again after two hundred years. . . .

I am the maker, the lover, and the keeper. . . .

When the young girl who starves
sits down to a table
she will sit beside me. . . .

I am food on the prisoner's plate. . . .

I am water rushing to the wellhead,
filling the pitcher until it spills. . . .

I am the patient gardener
of the dry and weedy garden. . . .

I am the stone step,
the latch, and the working hinge. . . .

I am the heart contracted by joy. . .
the longest hair, white
before the rest. . . .

I am there in the basket of fruit
presented to the widow. . . .

I am the musk rose opening
unattended, the fern on the boggy summit. . . .

I am the one whose love
overcomes you, already with you
when you think to call my name. . . .

Found at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15916