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 it gave up. And took my old body
and went out into the morning
and sang.
This sounds like me, I worry too much.
ReplyDeleteHave a great day!
I love Mary Oliver. And just learned last month that for the last 15 years of her life, my sleepy Florida town (village?) was her second home.
ReplyDeleteIsn't this entire poem absolutely the best mantra for all of us! Especially we of a certain age and time in life.
ReplyDeleteIsn't this entire poem absolutely the best mantra for all of us! Especially we of a certain age and time in life.
ReplyDeleteI will revisit this. I am a worrier. For what? You know the saying, worrying is like rocking in a rocking chair. It gives you something to do but it doesn't get you anywhere.
ReplyDelete