I Worried
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.
—MARY OLIVER
Credo sia sano pensare alla morte ogni tanto. Serve a fare scelte con maggiore giudizio, adottare una prospettiva di lungo respiro, rendersi conto delle proprie fortune, nonostante tutto.
La poesia sopra è tratta da un nuovo libro che … Continua a leggere
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