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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.

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