And the seeds begin their scattering.
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 with sufficiency.
Let anything 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.
'On Not Mowing the Lawn'
by Mary Oliver, From her book of poems "Blue Horses"