The Chat

I wish
I were
the yellow chat
down in the thickets

who sings all night,
throwing
into the air
praises

and panhandles,
plaints,
in curly phrases,
half-rhymes,

free verse too,
with head-dipping
and wing-wringing,
with soft breast

rising in to the air--
meek and sleek,
broadcasting,
with no time out

for pillow-rest,
everything--
pathos,
thanks--

oh, Lord,
what a lesson
you send me
as I stand

listening
to your rattling, swamp-loving chat
singing
of his simple, leafy life--

how I would like to sing to you
all night
in the dark
just like that.

by Mary Oliver