That Little Beast by Mary Oliver

That Little Beast

That pretty little beast, a poem,

     has a mind of its own.

Sometimes I want it to crave apples

     but it wants red meat.

Sometimes I want to walk peacefully

     on the shore

and it wants to take off all its clothes

     and dive in.

Sometimes I want to use small words

     and make them important

and it starts shouting the dictionary,

     the opportunities.

Sometimes I want to sum up and give thanks,

     putting things in order

and it starts dancing around the room

     on its four furry legs, laughing

     and calling me outrageous.

But sometimes, when I’m thinking about you,

     and no doubt smiling,

it sits down quietly, one paw under its chin,

     and just listens.