By Mary Oliver
I wanted to thank the mockingbird for the vigor of his song.
Every day he sang from the rim of the field, while I picked
blueberries or just idled in the sun.
Every day he came fluttering by to show me, and why not,
the white blossoms in this wings.
So one day I went there with a machine, and played some songs of
The mockingbird stopped singing, he came close and seemed
Now when I go down to the field, a little Mahler spills
through the sputters of his song.
How happy I am, lounging in the light, listening as the music
And I give thanks also for my mind, that thought of giving
And mostly I’m grateful that I take this world so seriously.