Meadowlark Sings and I Greet Him in Return
By Mary Oliver
Meadowlark, when you sing it's as if
you lay your yellow breast upon mine and say
hello, hello, and are we not
of one family, in our delight of life?
You sing, I listen.
Both are necessary
if the world is to continue going around
night-heavy then light-laden, though not
everyone knows this or at least
not yet,
or, perhaps, has forgotten it
in the torn fields,
in the terrible debris of progress.
