Poet of the ordinary, the common, the very drab, Mary Oliver was willing to listen, to hear. From that willingness emerges a body of work that is as humble as it is wise. She sang with open throat the prayers of the grass, the waggle of honey bees, the flowing river, the waiting sun, and asked on behalf of the earth crumbling under our carbon footprint that we get to know this haven we have called mother. 

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