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A beautiful poem by Mary Oliver that I heard for the first time today. Such exquisite language:

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.
Lehel Babos's profile photoChrista Desrets's profile photoSummer M's profile photoAundrea Dawn's profile photo
That was beautiful and it brightened my day. Thank you sir.
My soft animal of a body loves loving what it loves.
Lovely. Totally cool to hear people who's opinions I respect like poets I respect: something of validation in there.
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