Dear Lord, I have swept and I was 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.