By Mary Oliver
Your friend is coming I say
To Percy, and name a name
And he runs to the door, his
Wide mouth in its laugh-shape,
And waves, since he has one, his tail.
Emerson, I am trying to live,
As you said we must, the examined life.
But there are days I wish
There was less in my head to examine,
Not to speak of the busy heart. How
Would it be to be Percy, I wonder, not
Thinking, not weighing anything, just running forward.