determine their homes

Standard

ON NOT MOWING THE LAWN

Let the grass spring up tall, let its roots sing
and the seeds begin their scattering.
Let the weeds rejoin and be prolific throughout.
Let the noise of the mower be banished, hurrah!
Let the path become where I choose to walk, and not
otherwise established.
Let the goldfinches be furnished their humble dinner.
Let the sparrows determine their homes in security.
Let the honeysuckle reach as high as my window, that it
may look in.
Let the mice fill their barns and bins with a sufficiency.
Let anything be created, that wants to creep or leap
forward,
be able to do so.
Let the grasshopper have gliding space.
Let the noise of the mower be banished, yes, yes.
Let the katydid return and announce himself in the
long evenings.
Let the blades of grass surge back from the last
cutting.
Or, if you want to be poetic: the leaves of grass.

By Mary Oliver

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