The First of May
Now the smallest creatures, who do not know they have
names, In fields of pure sunshine open themselves and sing.
All over the marshes and in the wet meadows, Wherever
there is water, the companies of peepers Who cannot count their members, gather
with sweet shouting.
And the flowers of the woods who cannot see each other
Appear in perfect likeness of one another Among the weak new shadows on the
Now the smallest creatures, who know themselves by heart,
With all their tender might and roundness of delight Spending their colors,
their myriads and their voices Praise the moist ground and every winking leaf,
And the new sun that smells of the new streams.
Poetry is a great literacy connection for the outdoors.