“I Worried”: A Poem by Mary Oliver

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.

For reflection in solitude or in the company of others: The poet says that her worrying “has come to nothing”. Does your experience of worrying agree with hers? What worries might you need to let go of before your soul can sing?

Cathedral of the Incarnation