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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.
I love this one too. I love many of Oliver's poems. They all feel so sincere, and grateful, and loving. I think she manifests what life should be about in a very beautiful way.
The one I posted is my favourite poem but I've not read any others of hers, I give them a read.