Poem: "An Advent Poem," by Mary Oliver

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 holds 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 I still believe you will 

come, Lord; you will, when I speak to the fox, 

the sparrow, the lost dog, the shivering sea-goose, know 

that I am really speaking to you whenever I say, 

as I do all morning and afternoon: Come in, Come in.