Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk for hundreds of miles on your knees 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 world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clear blue air, are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination.
It calles to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting, over and over again announcing your place in the family of things.

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