![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq_jCRyCqxyePrYOKW8K7ziwb8x6d_4X3b3XQwSMDHOphCfm1rAlwhs43f4a0fUgg8pPAfUHw6evRQ_bTmHMJeO1KXRhnZyHbwAUxgWP_-Mg8ngxS7xYqui5tA1dp60DXeY74f15sEFxE/s320/WP_20160119_001.jpg) |
mixed media art |
I Worried
by Mary Oliver
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,