Nature and Nature

We'll fret, my love. That's what we do.
The sun will rise. The birds will gather,
Singing. Final flowers will appear on
Plants around the yard, and leaves will
Take on wild colors. All the world that
Is ours, the chilly air, the dry, unyielding
Ground, and all of the above, are here.
They're real and splendid things, but we
Will dwell on what we've read and lists
Of tasks we've yet to do, and fear a future
We've imagined will be worse than what
We know, and fret. That's what we do.

poem by Lawrence Beck
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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