You do not have to be good. |
You do not have to walk on your knees |
for a 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 world goes on. |
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the 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. |
Replies
Hm-m-m-m. . . What a coincidence. . . I've got 10 goslings coming in next week. Hatchery surprise. They aren't wild, but I'm looking forward to learning about them, all the same. Mary Oliver's poem is as close as I've gotten to geese so far. Rumor has it that they are great organic lawn mowers who double as guard animals.
Our annual show of the wild geese flying from the Gulf Coast to their summer homes up north is over for this year. The heat is settling in and they have sense enough to head for cooler spots.
natural critters know 'bout natural AC.
Nice poem!
thanks Nikki!