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lemmy.world

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.

6
Treedrakereply
fedia.io

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.

1

The one I posted is my favourite poem but I've not read any others of hers, I give them a read.

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“As a lamp, a cataract, a star in space an illusion, a dewdrop, a bubble a dream, a cloud, a flash of lightning view all created things like this.”

― The Diamond Sutra (transl. by Red Pine)

4
feddit.nu

I really like the poem, but the background makes it terrible to read. Anyone else experiencing this?

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Mary Oliver, "The Buddha's Last Instruction" | Spyke