Who worried of when, and why, and how.
He worried of yesterday’s awkward sneeze,
And whether tomorrow might bring a breeze.
He fretted the clouds,
he feared the sun,
He pondered if God was having fun.
He questioned his purpose, his toes, his tea,
And once lost sleep over a housefly.
He worried his shadow
was plotting revolt,
That his heartbeat might one day call a halt.
He feared that his thoughts were thinking too loud,
And that existence itself was a bit too proud.
He read every
label, he triple-checked locks,
He ironed his socks, then worried his looks.
He asked if the moon was judging his shoes,
And if existence was just bad news.
But one day a
whisper, soft as a sigh,
Said, “Dear sir, you’re worrying yourself dry.
All that matters is health, and keeping it sound
For without it, you’re not even around.”
“And beyond your
doing, your reach, your might,
Is a world that dances out of your sight.
So breathe, dear soul, let the wild winds play
Let the stars spin madly, come what may.”
He blinked at the
breeze, then chuckled aloud,
Dropped his umbrella, stepped out of the cloud.
He tasted the rain, he danced in the street,
He let go of fear and found joy in his feet.
No longer a
prisoner of “what if” and “when,”
He lived in the now, again and again.
For life, he learned, is not to control
But to feel, to laugh, to savor the whole.
So he let things be,
and he let things go,
And he let himself live, come high tide or low.
And the world, still spinning, just smiled in reply,
As he watched it all with a wide-open eye.
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