Excerpt from The Fourth Sign of The Zodiac by Mary Oliver

I know, you never intended to be in this world.
But you’re in it all the same.
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So why not get started immediately.
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I mean, belonging to it.
There is so much to admire, to weep over.
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And to write music or poems about.
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Bless the feet that take you to and fro.
Bless the eyes and the listening ears.
Bless the tongue, the marvel of taste.
Bless touching.
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You could live a hundred years, it’s happened.
Or not.
I am speaking from the fortunate platform
of many years,
none of which, I think, I ever wasted.
Do you need a prod?
Do you need a little darkness to get you going?
Let me be as urgent as a knife, then,
and remind you of Keats,
so single of purpose and thinking, for a while,
he had a lifetime.