Garden beds on a frosty Orcas morning
Wild Geese
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For one hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal
Of your body love what it loves
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of rain are
Moving across the landscapes,
Over the prairies and the deep trees,
The mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air
Are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely
The world offers itself to your imagination,
Calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting
Over and over announcing your place
In the family of things.
By Mary Oliver
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