I Worried
I worried a lot.
Will the garden grow, will the rivers flow in the right direction, will the earth turn
as it was taught,
and if not how shall
I correct it?
Was I right,
was I wrong,
will I be forgiven,
can I do better?
Will I ever be able to sing?
Even the sparrows
can do it and I am, well,
hopeless.
Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it?
Am I going to get rheumatism,
lockjaw, dementia?
Finally, I saw that worrying had come to nothing.
And gave it up.
And took my old body
and went out into the morning,
and sang.