Dear Lord
I have swept and I have washed but
still nothing is as shining as it should be for you.
Under the sink, for example, is an uproar of mice.
It is the season of their many children.
What shall I do?
And under the eaves and through the walls
the squirrels have gnawed their ragged entrances but it is the season
when they need shelter, so what shall I do?
And the raccoon limps into the kitchen and
opens the cupboard
while the dog snores, the cat hugs the pillow;
what shall I do?
Beautiful is the new snow falling in the yard and
the fox who is staring boldly up the path, to the door.
And still I believe you will come, Lord: you will, when I speak to the fox
the sparrow, the lost dog, the shivering sea-goose
know
that really I am speaking to you whenever I say
as I do all morning and afternoon: Come in, Come in.
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