Wild Geese
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. |
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