A Poem 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 your 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 praries 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 whild geese, harsh and exciting -
Over and over announcing your place
In the family of things.