Wednesday, July 21, 2021

The Worry Machine

The clothes we wear get dirty 

Or, once worn, are not so fresh,

So they get cleaned (or should) before

They’re back against our flesh.


Now wouldn’t it be wonderful 

If, like our dirty wash,

Our problems could be laundered

And would disappear? Oh, gosh!


We’d load our worries and our stress,

Each sorrow, dread and fear

Into some contraption, spinning ‘til

They all would disappear.


Each day would start out crisp and clean

And we could reassert 

Our better selves, at least until

The build-up of new dirt.

No comments:

Post a Comment