Poem

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, 

and sang.

poem by Mary Oliver via Misty Mawn

photo of the social weavers birds nest by me

happy friday 

;)