Wild Geese By Mary Oliver
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 ...
Your hands are always warm,
smooth and good to hold.
Still amazing beautiful too,
despite the scars and spots of age.
Your hands are broad and strong,
with Mount of Venus high
and nails (always manicured)
shaped like fine almonds.