What I loved in the beginning, I think, was mostly myself.

Never mind that I had to, since somebody had to.

That was many years ago.

Since then I have gone out from my confinements,

              though with difficulty.

I mean the ones that thought to rule my heart.

I cast  them out, I put them on the mush pile.

They will be nourishment somehow

              (everything is nourishment somehow or another).

And I have become the child of the clouds, and of hope.

I have become the friend of the enemy, whoever that is.

I have become older and, cherishing what I have learned,  

              I have become younger.

And what do I risk to tell you this, which is all I know?

Love yourself. Then forget it. Then, love the world.

Mary Oliver, To begin with: the sweet grass, 2009.