I Worried

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 be able to sing, even the sparrows
can o it and I am, well,
helpless.

Is my eyesight failing, 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 up.  And took my old body
and went out into the morning,
and sang.

Mary Oliver



I read this poem
early this morning
and could add many to the list of worrying
but will let them go.