I am not a worrier by nature,
but the niggling voices 
pace back and forth,
wearing a hole 
in the carpet of my mind.
I know worrying
over things I cannot control
is foolish and futile.
There's nothing I can do
about weather, the traffic,
or what other people do,
except find a way to live with them.
I've tried sweeping worry under the carpet,
turning on the music,
and going out for a walk,
but it never really goes.
It clings like a stray eyelash
that you think you've removed,
but is suddenly there again,
making your eyes water.
Perhaps age is the enemy,
forcing me to face the fact
that time is limited.
The end comes to all of us;
that's another of the things
we cannot control,
but the nurturers among us
want to make the world
a perfect place,
especially for those we love.
Their pain and worry becomes ours,
and though we know 
there is no such thing as perfection, 
and that we have little or no power 
over life's challenges,
we still worry. 
We worry over our failures,
what we could have done differently,
and did we do enough?
We hope they know
we tried our best.

~Elise Skidmore ©2023

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