Worry

Thought the brook passing by,
washing feet of mountains high,
of mighty rocks and soaring trees.

Destined, where shall I go next,
paradise, valley of flowers,
Land of riches, or land of poor,
Lined my bank, with artistry,

Or, paved along with refuse

be parted by the mid way peak

or split into my teeny streams

by a standing mass of sand.

Be welcomed by offerings

or discarded by wretched waste.

Worried and anxious
about the time to come,
trudged along the brook,
awaiting her fate in the
time to come.

Sprang in, just then, a tiny stone.
Unperturbed was he
watching the scenes passing by.

Surprised, the brook asked the tiny stone

if he knew what lay ahead.

"Why bother", said the stone

of what not lies in our hands

What's bound to happen will happen

Spoil our today, for a fated event

or live today to the fullest.

To be prepared for the ultimate goal

Why worry for what we know not.