Take a stroll with Worry and a willing partner find,
who'll bring along your troubles so they'll not be left behind.
He'll summon all the vultures who will hover overhead
while fear about your troubles leaves your courage feeling dead.
Mr. Worry will not comfort you; commiserate he does,
for he thrives and grows but stronger while reducing you … because
the more he walks beside you the more welcome he remains
and feeds upon your sorrow making loses of your gains.
Take a stroll with Worry and you stroll on liquid sand
where to step away is difficult and nowhere can you stand,
for standing still is sinking and his vultures overhead
will feast upon the hopes and dreams you've given up for dead.
The Mother of your soul doth weep when Worry slithers in,
an uninvited guest so cruel who wants you not to win.
And Worry wed with Anger -- both destroy a vital chord
when the Mother weeps while watching you pick up a sharpened sword
to wreak a mindless havoc without wisdom at your side,
but Worry, laughing all the time will see how you deride
your essence and your virtue in the thrall of Anger's lust
and full of pride so wounded you grind Wisdom into dust.
© 2000 My Secret Thoughts, Arthur Ruger
