MEADOWLARK

Eastern Meadowlark

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. 

RENEWAL

Morning Bath for a Field Sparrow

Upstate South Carolina

With Thanks to the Field Sparrow,

Whose Voice is So Delicate and Humble

By Mary Oliver

                                                     I do not live happily or comfortably

                                                     with the cleverness of our times.

                                                     The talk is all about computers, 

                                                     the news is all about bombs and blood.

                                                     This morning, in the fresh field,

                                                     I came upon a hidden nest.

                                                     It held four warm, speckled eggs.

                                                     I touched them.

                                                     Then went away softly,

                                                     having felt something more wonderful

                                                     than all the electricity of New York City.